


Red Right Hand

by GlovesForThis



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Borderline Personality Disorder, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 372,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlovesForThis/pseuds/GlovesForThis
Summary: At nineteen years old, Dipper Pines pictured himself enjoying a mundane college experience, not taking refuge in the penthouse suite of the city's most infamous criminal gang. A single night has flipped his life from ideal to utter chaos, and in the center of the storm is Bill Cipher. Danger hides beneath his smirk, and Dipper knows he's playing with fire, but he just can't get enough.Bill Cipher is accustomed to getting everything he could ever want at the snap of a finger, but he can feel his control slipping when forced to decide between one of the nefarious crews he runs with and an irritatingly sassy sapling who has stolen his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter happens via flashbacks, watch for: blood, violence, and brief suicidal thoughts. Locations from GTA V are referenced but no knowledge of the game is necessary.

His heart rate was impossibly fast, the thump loud and hard against his chest as it threatened to break through his ribcage and spill his blood everywhere in sporadic convulsions. Tensed with fear, an inhale for much-needed oxygen caught in his throat, suffocating him, painfully squeezing the life from his lungs. He was going to die,  _he was going to die_ , he—

A strangled cry of fright, one he didn't even recognize as his own initially, startled Dipper into consciousness with a jolt. Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, his eyes fluttered open to adjust to the low light of the guest bedroom while his clenched fists slowly loosened on the silky sheets they'd held in a death grip mere seconds before.

To his surprise, he realized he must have fallen asleep somehow, though wasn't sure how he'd managed that considering…

It felt like his mind stopped for a split second. It was the calm before the storm as an intense wave of grief washed over him while the memories came flooding back, tears forming in the corners of his eyes — he couldn't do this.

Much like his dream, he found himself unable to breathe, chest painfully tight.

In a desperate search for comfort to quell the rising panic within him, Dipper looked to find Mabel among the copious sheets on the king-sized bed, gaze landing on his sister's sprawled out figure, peacefully asleep.

Dipper felt nauseous. He wanted to wake her, to cry with her again, sobbing together until they were utterly incoherent. His face hurt from how much they'd cried.

Her closed eyes were puffy, cheeks flushed, brunette hair a mess, but Dipper was certain he didn't look any better. He gently brushed a hand over her back in an attempt to be soothing, wondering if her sleep was as tranquil as it seemed since his had been far from it. He didn't know how he'd ever sleep decently again after what'd happened tonight.

* * *

There was a crash. Glass shattering. Sudden flashes of color ignited in the sky, bursting into a million pieces as the roar of fireworks filled his ears, the sound deafening and not quite right. It was so loud, so incredibly close, and...

A cold truth chilled him to the bone: they weren't fireworks. They were gunshots.

A zap of adrenaline had Dipper awake instantly, the terror hitting him like a wall of bricks as the thunderous echo resounded throughout the house, confirming that his nightmare followed him from his dream.

He was overcome by disbelief, by the sheer horror of the situation.

He was frozen, muscles not cooperating, unable to move or think or even breathe as the unrelenting grasp of fear held him in place.

The piercing noise was nonstop, the entire foundation of his family's mansion shaking from its force. A blood-curdling scream joined the gunshots, and Dipper's stomach lurched, panic rushing over him as he recognized it as his mother's voice.

This couldn't be happening — he didn't even know what was happening, all he knew was…

_Mabel!_

Dread swept through him, mixing with the basic desire for self-preservation and the growing urge to flee. But he wasn't going anywhere, not without Mabel. She had to be okay. She  _needed_ to be.

Dipper jumped from his bed, running on pure adrenaline as he crossed the room in record time to shake her, her grogginess fading instantly as more gunshots rang out.

It was like everything was moving in slow motion as all he could do was stare down at her, wide-eyed and petrified for their lives. Their eyes locked. There was a singular, downright terrifying truth in the air. And finally finding his voice, all he could manage was a single, choked word:

Police.

* * *

The tang of blood drew him from his thoughts, only now noticing that he'd been biting his lip hard enough to break the skin.

Dipper sighed, unsure how to cope with this right now when everything felt overwhelming. He wished there could be an off-switch for his racing thoughts.

Shuffling from the bedsheets while being careful not to disturb Mabel, Dipper wandered out of the bedroom and entered the penthouse's main living space.

What he saw made him feel like he was in a fever dream. Sure, he'd seen it once before, but… he'd never taken in its elegance and in his dazed state, that was seemingly the only details he could absorb. The pale moonlight streaming through the mural-esque wall window accented the room, bringing a ghostly blue tint to the undoubtedly expensive furnishings. It was cold, unwelcome and unfamiliar.

Even the sectional sofa with its downy pillows, strategically surrounding the exceptionally-large flat screen television didn't seem inviting to Dipper. While there were homey items like a baby grand piano situated near the spacious kitchen, whiteboards with confusing equations and maps, and a fireplace, the fact that people (three, in fact — five if he and Mabel counted)  _lived_ in this space—gangsters and criminals, no less—was beyond him since nothing appeared to be in disarray or an inch out of place. It was neat, clinically so, and he felt stifled by it all.

He still felt sick. He needed to get out.

Stepping onto the penthouse balcony was a change of pace, the city below bustling with its bright, colorful lights and fast cars and bleating horns, quite different from the strange stillness inside the penthouse.

Although he'd debated collapsing onto the patio sofa, Dipper drifted toward the railing instead, leaning forward and clasping the metal between his fingers, discovering it was cool despite the hot air of Los Santos.

A polluted night sky loomed above the overpopulated and noisy city, and he wished the stars would crash down around him, desperate and yearning for reprieve.

* * *

In his sheer panic, he told Mabel to hide.

He didn't know what was coming after them, what danger had burst into their home, but he didn't want her to face it.

But as quickly as it'd started, the crackles of gunshots had tapered off but left his ears ringing; he could hear shuffling and movement and yelling, safety was an illusion.

Dipper's hand, trembling wildly, lingered near the doorknob of the bedroom. Uneasiness was clawing at him. It settled like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. Every inch of Dipper, the last shreds of sense he had in this state, were screaming at him. Screaming _don't go out there_.

The house had gone silent, all he could hear was his ragged breathing.

Despite the heaviness in the air, he felt light-headed as he stepped into the hallway that led to his parents' bedroom. It was chaotic, a mess: the fur rugs were ruffled, the paintings eskew, windows with broken glass. The end table was knocked over, the small golden lion statue that usually rested atop it completely missing — he knew his parents treasured it, a luxurious wedding gift they'd received so many years ago. Gone.

A... robbery?

Dipper's attention drifted down the hallway illuminated only by eery beams of moonlight. The blazing, fiery scent of gunsmoke lingered.

The first smears of blood and bullet holes peppered in the wall had his stomach doing queasy flips, internally begging it not to be true; it couldn't be. Then the smears turned to splatters, turned to giant splashes and a crimson red puddle with limp, lifeless bodies… The edges of his sight started to become increasing black and fuzzy as he could do nothing but stare at the familiar corpses, sickened. Head and heart pounding, even if it seemed the world stopped for several seconds.

It was unreal, he couldn't believe it, couldn't begin to process.

It couldn't be. He screamed.

With shock as his guide, he numbly began to walk to them, what grisly remains there were, but he was dizzy, his head spinning while his vision blurred and ran together and adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he felt himself falling.

The world seemed to twist around him in a flash of pulsating technicolor; Dipper never felt the moment of impact as his consciousness slipped, and he plummeted toward the floor.

* * *

And now he stood on a balcony, hundreds of feet above millions of people that didn't care, didn't even know yet.

A shuddering exhale fell from Dipper, shaking his head as if that would rid the intrusive thoughts from his mind and clear away the crushing grief that seemed to be intent on consuming him whole. He was drowning in his own sorrow with no end in sight, not that he believed there was one to begin with.

His life would never be the same after tonight, and he wasn't sure if what was ahead could be considered worth living through — there was Mabel, but everything else… everything he'd ever known, it'd been ripped away in a single night, drastically altering his present and future. Dipper couldn't imagine it, there was no returning to okay now, no way to go back and change it.

He kept his eyes trained on the city as tears trailed down his cheeks, chest constricting while muffled sniffles escaped him.

A part of him was still convinced this wasn't happening,  _couldn't be_ happening to him of all people, that this was nothing more than a wild dream to ride out until it was back to normal and he was with his loving family once more.

This reality simply wasn't possible. There wasn't a chance he was truly living this in the wake of his parents' murders… but here he was, wading through the shock and afraid for his life while trying to grapple with the tides of grief.

Under the circumstances, he figured it was impressive that he hadn't crumbled under the stress, and oh, it was so very tempting to. He wanted to give up, stop the suffering that stung sharp as knives embedded in his heart, and it was like each thump caused their pointed ends to go deeper.

* * *

"Really fucked up…"

"God damn it!"

"...unbelievable. Even the child…?"

Distantly, he could hear the sound of something crash, but the object was lost to him. "Son of a bitch, I'll kill 'em!"

Voices echoed around him as he drifted back into consciousness, unfamiliar and gruff, and he couldn't stop himself from emitting pained groan from how his head throbbed. The world was blurry, shapes shifting in and out of focus.

"...may be alive…?"

There was a hand clutching at his chin, forcing his head up as Dipper's dazed eyes stared into another man's who was looking back at him critically in examination. "Stanley, he's… stunned, but not dead."

"He's alive?" Another man approached, less spiffy than the last. Both wore strapped guns and hardened expressions, though the first seemed more concerned. "Well, ain't that some good news in a sea of shit! Can you hear me, kid?"

Dipper couldn't formulate a reply, hardly alert enough to understand what was occurring. Once again, it was as if the world was moving around him, a slow motion film that he was a helpless pawn in, able to do nothing but watch it go by.

"Kid?" he prompted again, and the first man looked more worried.

"Do you think—?"

An unintelligible noise tumbled from Dipper, a mess of vowels that even he couldn't decipher.. but it was something, better than no noise at all. He was blinking now, trying to get his surroundings to come in clearer, wishing his head would stop attempting to self-destruct.

"...that he's special needs?" he interjected, finishing the other man's sentence. "Probably. Son, if ya can understand us, and I know that may be hard, nod your head."

Something snapped into place.

Fear catching up with him, Dipper jolted back, eyes as wide as saucers as he stared at the two strangers who had barged into his home, clutching at his chest as he struggled for breath. "Wh- who are you?!"

The man who had been holding his chin retracted his hand quickly, appearing startled by the sudden recovery and resulting coherency. "Ah, we're…"

"I'm Stan," the brute of his companion interrupted with his thumb pointed back at his chest. "This here's Ford. What's your name, kid?"

Trying to recollect himself and put distance between them, he started to rise to his feet only to have a rush of dizziness crash over him; he settled for scrambling backwards, eyeing the two with suspicion. Although they didn't have their guns pointed at him, nor were they particularly threatening in how they spoke, Dipper was still terrified given the circumstances. His parents… oh.

Oh god.

He was going to be sick.

"Kid? I asked your name." Stan reached over to prod his shoulder, causing Dipper to flinch back with wild eyes. "Jesus Christ, take it easy. We're not gonna kill ya."

" _Pleasedon'thurtme_!" It was a panicked squeak in response to the promise that he wouldn't be killed (how reassuring), and he found himself sincerely hoping Mabel had located a hiding place so she would be safe from these people… whoever they were. "What do you want?!"

"Your name, boy." The other—Ford—muttered.

He swallowed hard, grasping at the tattered rug for purchase with shaky hands. "...Dipper."

That seemed to be the wrong answer from how Ford shot Stan a questioning glance, then looked back to him. "Did ya hit your head or somethin'?" Stan asked, gaze scanning his head for signs of injury. "That ain't your name, kid."

Confused, he wondered why they'd asked if they weren't going to accept his response, but before he could say anything, Ford cut in. "Are you not Mason?"

_Oh._

"I am," he confirmed evenly, hoping to appear more confident than he felt. "It's… I go by Dipper."

Stan's laugh, though devoid of any joy, boomed through the silent house. "Christ, we'll deal with that later. Have ya seen your sister?"

Anxiety bubbled in him at the mention of Mabel, worried they had hurt her. "How… how do you know—?"

"Kid, your family's information isn't exactly private."

While fair enough, he wasn't thinking straight right now — all his mind kept going back to was the thought of his parents, dead. The puddle of blood, the gut-wrenching smears on the wall. The dizziness had returned, the hallway shifting in the corners of his sight.

At the mere idea, his head tilted, trying to see around the two figures blocking his path, dreading what was down there but morbid curiosity forcing him to look, to try to see his parents...

Stan snapped his fingers in Dipper's face to grab his attention. "Nothin' to see over there, kid."

"B-but my parents—!"

Ford let out a strained exhale, "They're gone. Now, about your sister…"

"She's already called the police! They'll be here any minute!" Dipper was desperate, not wanting to hear the bad news if she was also dead— he didn't think he could handle it. He couldn't, he knew he couldn't.

Without her… he gulped at the thought.

There was a collective displeasure in the air immediately as the threat of police was thrown at them. " _Shit_ ," he could hear Stan hiss under his breath. "You better find your sister quick, kid. We're leaving. All of us."

" _What_?!"

There was no way. Not a chance.

Although relieved Mabel was probably alright, there was a new hefty problem to contend with. Dipper shook his head and again was scrambling to get away. "You're insane! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

He couldn't escape Stan's reach in time, and could feel a fist close around the collar of his pine tree-print pajamas, holding him in place. " _I didn't ask_." His voice had dropped to a dangerous growl and left not an inch for argument. "We need to get you kids out of here. You can resist all ya want, but it won't do ya any good."

Still in the throes of panic, he squawked with a motion toward where his parents inevitably laid in rivers of their own blood, "So you can kill us too?!" The thought had his stomach twisting in knots, he was going to faint again—

"We didn't kill your parents. We were trying to save them!" He released his grip on his shirt as his companion, Ford, pulled out a pistol from his coat and pointed it at him.

"Best not waste time, Mason. Find your sister."

And that was how he and Mabel, equipped only with essentials and sets of clothes, ended up in the backseat of a car even more luxurious than the ones his family owned… or used to own — that was saying something, but he couldn't find it in himself to care as they raced by the the streets and people and cars of Los Santos, speeding down the freeway to some unknown destination.

Grimly, he sort of hoped the car would crash, letting them all die instantly. But alas, giving them the sweet release of death was too much to ask for.

Trembling, Dipper was collapsed against his sister, and Mabel had her head buried in her nightgown, refusing to say a single word. He didn't blame her, as he didn't know what to say either except that he wished things were different.

Guilt panged at him. The devastation that came with being powerless to the destruction of their lives, as if this was somehow his fault, proved difficult to escape.

He didn't understand why he was alive, what force decided he would survive this. But he knew he didn't deserve it.

Desperate for a distraction to stop his unrelenting thoughts, he tuned in to the conversation happening in the front of the vehicle.

"...have Bill contact them immediately and express our formal disapproval over what occurred tonight." He could hear Ford complain, sounding distressed. "This is unacceptable— not only were there  _kids_ but they have utterly doomed this city with their bold, idiotic move."

"Ya know that won't do shit," Stan responded bitterly. "They fucked this one up bad, and the only thing those dumbasses would understand is a bomb planted in their headquarters. Though, that ain't half a bad idea…"

" _No_ , Stanley. The senator and mayor are dead, so we ought to wait before we take action. We don't know what this means for us yet."

Dipper gradually realized  _this…_

The murders…

They weren't motivated by robbery, and the light-headedness made a shockingly fast comeback. "Someone targeted our parents?" he thought aloud, piecing it together but hardly comprehending; nothing felt real, not the loss of their parents or the fact they were being dragged from their home to god-knew-where.

Stan confirmed his thoughts. "Yeah, they did. We knew they were planning on it, but we were too late… we only got a few of them while they were runnin' out."

And with that, Dipper was feeling sick again, curling tighter into Mabel as if that would ease his nausea. His head was reeling, swarming with too many thoughts that he couldn't even concentrate on one for long.

"We'll take good care of ya, though." Stan hadn't stopped talking. "Let things cool down for a month or two, since the Ravagers will be hunting ya and the cops will be on the lookout. Once things do, we'll give ya some cash and ya can do what you wish. As long as you don't talk about us."

He didn't even know what  _us_ was referring to.

"Can't we just go now?" Dipper mumbled, a mournful sound. Where they would go or what they'd do as newly-made orphans, he didn't know, but… "We promise we won't talk, right Mabel?"

Dipper's heart fell slightly when there was no response, not that he'd really expected one when she was like this, and one glance at her was crushing since he knew he couldn't do anything to alleviate the grief they were experiencing. Unable to hold back, discomfort expanded in his chest, and he felt fat tears roll down his face. His lithe frame shuddered with sobs.

Ford frowned. "Unfortunately, that isn't an option. For our safety and yours, you must remain with us for a while... but as Stanley said, try not to fret since you will be treated as honored guests would be."

"It's not like we're gonna hurt ya kids," Stan added. "That's the last thing we wanna do."

The car ride continued in silence until they were pulling into a driveway of an astonishingly big complex and being ushered out of the vehicle, soon finding themselves standing in the doorway of the penthouse suite.

Ford encouraged the twins inside, pushing them toward the sectional sofa with the reasoning: "Without the threat of cops looming over us, I'd like to have a look at you both to ensure you're unharmed from your encounter with… them."

Dipper didn't protest and figured he was referring to the Ravagers, having heard that gang's name tossed around quite a bit in the past twenty minutes, with a heap of cursing aimed at them. He decided it was best to allow Ford to check him over since he was too exhausted, too emotionally drained to fight it. The events of the evening were in the back of his mind, but the full gravity of it all hadn't clicked into place.

Stan had left their sides, crossing the expansive room in long strides. "Bill!" he called. "Where are ya? We got some bad news." Dipper glanced away from Ford's examination to observe a blond male in a yellow and black tuxedo and a bowtie enter the room from the balcony.

He was exceedingly tall, and… Dipper's eyes narrowed, there was something familiar about him. He couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"Stan," Bill greeted. "What's up? You look like you've seen some ghosts. How'd your little mission go?"

"We were too late. They got to the parents first… but we managed to recover the kids." Stan beckoned over to them with his hand.

"Damn."

With Bill looking at him now, Dipper was  _certain_ he knew him. Somehow, from somewhere… the memory was fuzzy. With so many other things on his mind, he didn't dwell on it.

It didn't take long for Bill's expression to brighten up. "If it makes ya feel better, your aim's better than your timing tonight because Lee's six feet under with Nate now! After you two shot him up, Robbie sent me some death threats over the whole shebang and an image of him– at my request. 'Proof or it didn't happen', you know! We can get out the board!"

The board? What was  _that_?

He noticed something between a grimace and smile flicker on Ford's features for a moment. "While I'd normally express sympathy, the Ravagers had no right to be there this evening. Absolute stupidity, and this is well-deserved retribution," the grimace took over, "though I hadn't intended on  _killing_ him..."

His questions about the board were answered when Stan, who had fallen into a fit of triumphant chuckling, retrieved it from a closet. It was a whiteboard with pictures taped to it and lines drawn connecting various people, and Dipper could see the eyes crossed out on a darker skinned male, as well as a female with dyed hair. There was writing beneath the images, but he couldn't make out what each said.

However, his attention was snagged by the multiple question marks scattered near an image of someone wearing a golden owl mask and a top hat. Whoever it was appeared to be sipping a soda through a straw-sized hole in the beak of the mask. How intimidating.

Tilting his head, he asked, "Who… who are they?"

"Them?" Stan glanced down at the pictures. "Your parents' murderers, lil' Dippy. The ones with the crossed out eyes are dead. Excluding Lee," he gestured to an image of a blond, "they all died before tonight. Tragic." He pinned the whiteboard to the wall, pulling out a pen to 'x' out his eyes. "Much better, don'tcha think? Just can't let Wendy see this."

Puzzled, Dipper had only a scarce idea of what was going on, who these people even were. Apparently, the board was filled with members of the Ravagers and their pictures, but… then who was Wendy, and why couldn't she see it? He wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

Almost too intuitively, Ford seemed to pick up on his confusion, while Dipper was unaware that it'd been written clearly across his face the entire time. "Wendy is in our crew… Used to be in theirs but," he sighed lightly, "there was an… incident. It'd be wise to keep it hushed around her out of respect."

Bill chuckled. "Oh please, she already knows about Lee. I forwarded her the picture Robbie sent me."

Ford was bristling, visibly irritated. "The picture of  _Lee_?"

"Yup! Thought Red might like the proof too."

Dipper felt like he was going to be ill again, this conversation just icing on the cake to the death of his own parents — on the way here, Stan and Ford had convinced him they were perfectly mannered individuals (for being gangsters, at least), but he was beginning to have doubts.

"Alright, alright." Stan had begun to speak. "It's been a long night. Kids, we'll show you to the guest room so you can get some rest."

* * *

After they'd been brought to their new bedroom, Dipper had erupted into a fit of sobs and broken down completely, it was as if the weight of the situation had been suspended above them, threateningly hovering, until that very moment.

He couldn't remember how long he'd cried for, but it felt like hours where he sat with Mabel, both in tears and not knowing what to say or how to make it better… so they'd just bawled over the loss, the grief, the total destruction of everything they'd known.

They'd attempted speaking to each other, sharing sad words of semi-comfort when nothing seemed to lessen the suffering they were enduring. It hadn't helped, and he was left feeling distraught over it all.

He wanted the grief to stop, to leave him alone for just a moment, let him recollect his thoughts and sift through them… organize them, but they were a complete wreck. Dipper couldn't think straight, he couldn't even keep his emotions in check when he was bursting into tears every few minutes.

And ultimately, he didn't think he could take this. It was too much, the stress and sadness of it, the unbearable guilt and grief ripping through his soul. Dipper just wanted it to stop.

Perhaps if he could get his mind to slow down for just one second, if he could turn it off— but he couldn't, and he was helpless to his own emotional avalanche. It was agony, being haunted by mental images of his parents in pools of their own blood.

Mind drifting back to the present, Dipper's hands loosened on the balcony railing, and his movements were languid, deliberate, as he edged one leg over the side.

And then the other, so he was perched on the rail, teetering precariously over the city of Los Santos that was a blur of lights and sounds below. The city seemed so tiny from here.

A blissful thought occurred to him: all he'd have to do...

One scoot forward, and he could be done with this, free himself from the terror and despair and anxiety, the insurmountable sorrow that held—

"Hey cutie," came a voice from behind, and Dipper tensed as he was surrounded by the warmth of arms wrapping around him, the feeling of a chest pressed against his back and a chin on his shoulder. He hadn't noticed he was shaking like a leaf until now and in the next second, he was being effortlessly plucked off the rail and set onto the secure floor of the balcony.

Turning around, Dipper was met with the sight of Bill, still dressed in his attire which seemed too formal for the occasion. His stance was casual, a faint smile on his lips curved ever-so-slightly into a smirk that oozed charisma and insincerity. In a flash, his guard was up.

He hadn't heard the other join him outside, but admittedly, his thoughts had him distracted. Acting out of habit, Dipper wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to at least appear somewhat presentable, but also not sure if he even cared anymore once he noticed he was doing it. How he looked to Bill was extremely low on the list of concerns.

"You don't wanna jump, that'll hurt like hell. Come on." He led him away from the railing, instead urging him to sit on the white patio sofa. And Dipper, dazed by the sudden switch of events, couldn't do anything except follow after.

He was about to speak, a protest on the tip of his tongue, but was shushed by a black-gloved hand as Bill went on. "Tell me what's on your mind. If you still want to jump afterward, go for it. I won't stop you."

"Then what's the point?" Dipper asked miserably.

Bill's eyebrows raised. "Well, it'll give me something to tell Stan when he flips his shit because you're splattered all over the pavement."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"You'll see him in your nightmares, you'll see him in your dreams_  
>  _He'll appear out of nowhere but he ain't what he seems_  
>  _You'll see him in your head, on the TV screen_  
>  _Hey buddy, I'm warning you to turn it off_  
>  _He's a ghost, he's a god, he's a man, he's a guru_  
>  _You're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan_  
>  _Designed and directed by his red right hand."_  
>  \- "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't expect this to explode but gosh, y'all are wonderful so enjoy an early update. Thanks for the comments/kudos, we really appreciate it. <3

Bill watched as Dipper blinked at him, then the kid wordlessly looked away toward the horizon line where the tiniest rays of sun were peeking over, casting beams of early morning light over the city.

So they were stuck with a kid who could thousand-yard-stare like a champ.

Nice to know.

Pulling back the sleeve of his jacket, he looked deliberately at the watch on his wrist because god damn, if Bill had realized he would take so long to respond, he would've just let him go. Then caught him. At the moment, they didn't need some stupid kid killing himself at their penthouse since that'd call for an investigation and Bill didn't want pigs crawling all over the place. They were already annoying enough when they tried to stop him during heists. Killing them was fun though.

"I…" Dipper's throat worked silently, seemingly debating, "I don't even  _know_ you." He sounded strained, but that wasn't exactly a surprise when he'd probably been out here crying for who knew how long. There was a pause, and he sniffled as he wiped away more tears. "All I know is that… you sent Wendy a picture of a dead guy. And that doesn't scream 'someone who I want to talk to about things.'"

"You don't know  _Wendy_ ," Bill reminded him, though he supposed a formal introduction was in order. Stan didn't even attempt one for him, that lazy fuck. "Name's Bill Cipher. And you must be Mason," that caught his attention, and Dipper was looking at him again. "Don't look so surprised. I know who you are, the chess-winning son of our now-former mayor and senator. Yes, it's nice to meet me. The pleasure is yours." He winked at him.

Once the horror had faded from his eyes, he winced. "Dipper, actually," he corrected, his frame deflating, "and I'm already envious of the people who've never met you. Can I jump off the balcony yet?"

Bill made a tsking noise at him. "So impatient. You haven't even spilled the beans to me, kid. What's eatin' ya?" He could guess correctly, but he figured it'd do more for the dumb jar to get it off his chest. Therapeutic or whatever, but there was another reason, a more personal one, why he needed this kid to cough it up.

He turned away from him, sniffling. "You need me to tell you what's wrong?" A wet laugh escaped Dipper, bringing his hands to cover his face. "Well, my parents are  _dead_  and my life is a wreck and I'm trapped in some apartment with a bunch of criminals, and you're antagonizing me."

No, Dipper didn't  _need_  to tell him anything. Bill already knew, and he didn't really care. Most of this was formalities, an attempt to prevent the kid from killing himself on their property at the least. He'd be happy to help the kid find another balcony later. "If it's any consolation, your 'entrapment' is solely for your protection. If we were to let you loose, the very same people that took out your folks would go after you." And then there'd be two dead kids and Stan would be PISSED. "Jumping off the balcony would be a nicer fate, though I still don't recommend it."

"So those guys from the board?" Dipper muttered through his hands before he dropped them back into his lap. "I thought most of them were dead."

"They have some left," Bill shrugged. "Were five for a long time but are now down to four, since Lee reunited with his dilbro. Hope they're living it up in Hell with Tambry, sounds like a threeway in the making."

"What?" He glanced up to frown, looking puzzled.

Ah, this kid was a little slow. Bill assumed it was because he hit his head when he fainted back there. Hopefully. "Once upon a time when the gang was more… intact," in the days before Thompson fucked up a job and killed a chunk of them, "Lee was close to a guy named Nate, and Nate briefly had a thing for Tambry but his love for Lee murdered that crush brutally. They were best friends and very, very gay. I bet you'd know all about that, with how much of a twink you are."

Dipper flushed instantly, though he couldn't tell if it was just anger or embarrassment too. Whoops, the tiny twiggy twink was mad at him now in any case. " _Seriously_? What is  _wrong_ with you, dude?" he snapped, gaze narrowing.

With a smirk, Bill ruffled Dipper's hair, unfazed by the reaction. "Just need to make you a blond and you'd fit the description perfectly." As the hair moved, he caught a glimpse of a pale mark. "Hey cutie, what's this on your forehead?"

He didn't even know someone's face could  _be_ that shade of red. Dipper pulled away with an irritated squawk, swatting at his hand in the process and smoothing his brown hair back into place over the mark. "It's nothing!" he tried to protest, but personally Bill thought it sounded like a whine.

"Uh huh…" Bill lunged for him, knocking him over on the sofa despite his squirming and squeaking, pinning him with ease. "Let's see what you're hiding there, Pine Tree!"

" _Pine Tree?!_ " Still thrashing, Dipper was attempting to weasel out of his grip.

It was almost like he was holding down a kitten with Dipper's feeble attempts to escape. "Look south, kid!"

Eyes trailing downward, Dipper seemed to finally realize where the nickname originated from — those fuzzy pine tree-print pajamas were quite adorable. It suddenly became a lot less adorable when the squirmy escape attempts continued and he was kneed harshly in the stomach, Bill's breath momentarily knocked from him at the impact.

Christ, he hadn't expected the kid to be so difficult about this. Whatever was on his forehead better be worth it.

"You wanna play dirty, Pine Tree? Fine." It took only a moment to position himself, having pried his twig-like thighs apart to lay between them — he was eager to see Dipper attempt to knee him like this, and knew he was trying to with how his legs kicked uselessly. "Now, let's take a look!"

With one hand clamping Dipper's wrists together, his free one brushed the hair away from the kid's forehead, exposing the Big Dipper constellation birthmark. "Interesting," he murmured in fascination. "You were fussing over this, Pine Tree?"

It  _was_ absolutely worth the trouble of pinning the squirmy kitten.

Gaze averting, he couldn't seem to meet his eyes and was visibly ashamed by it, as he mumbled, "It's… it's embarrassing."

"Nah," Bill shook his head. Constellations were nice. "Stop fretting so much, Pine Tree. It's not a good look on you."

Dipper huffed, but his expression melted into something softer, sadder, his body going limp beneath him in what he assumed was defeat. "Look, man, my parents just died. How I look is the least of my problems."

Bill wasn't so sure about that. "Your parents dying isn't the end of the world. I got along just fine when mine did. It hurts," that was debatable in his opinion, "but you can't let that consume ya."

What hurt more was his parents deciding to put down his dogs, his precious Golden Retriever mixes, without so much as a warning because Poppy had growled at their idiotic, ankle-biting yapper. The mini-mutt wouldn't stop attacking her, and somehow  _she_  was always in the wrong for defending herself. Buttercup was killed due to being 'too dangerous', but Bill knew they were just looking for an excuse to get rid of them. Neither would have hurt a fly.

Bill still had a particular distaste for that stupidly small, misbehaved dachshund. They deserved to watch that fucking thing's neck snap before he burned them alive.

"I'm  _trying_. It's hard, okay?" Dipper's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, tears spilling over his skin — Jesus, at this rate, he was going to be dehydrated from all the waterworks. After a bit, he asked, "Can you let me up?"

"Are you going to take a run for the rail?"

"Maybe," he muttered, "being with you has done nothing but tempt me."

"Guess you're not gettin' up, Pine Tree." He patted his head, gloved fingers grazing the birthmark lightly, tracing over the lines of the constellation. Why did the kid get the cool birthmark? He didn't appreciate it, didn't even want people to look at it apparently.

"What are you doing." It wasn't a question, it was a slightly irked statement.

"Don't worry about it." He wasn't hurting him. He was fine.

Dipper merely sighed and somehow sensed it was in his best interest to let it drop. He watched as his attention shifted to the balcony (Bill tightened his grip around the kid's wrists to remind him), then back to him, his gaze settling on his own.

Dipper's eyes were puffy and watery as he seemed to examine him, keeping them locked for a moment while neither spoke; Bill could see a trace of something in the depths, the way his pupils dilated just a touch—

Recognition.

Shit.

His movements paused as his mind spun with dark thoughts. If Dipper recognized him from the attack, he needed to get rid of him. Immediately. "Pine Tree," he said slowly. "You're staring at me like I'm eye candy. Got anything you'd like to say?"

"Your  _eye_ ," he said, sounding entirely enraptured by this. "...You're a freak too."

God. Fucking. Dammit.

"Guess I gotta throw you off the balcony. Bye." Bill made a move to lift the kid up, scooping him in his arms and carrying him bridal style toward the rail. He wasn't entirely happy about his eye being brought up– he knew he had sectoral heterochromia, well aware of the splotch of blue that tainted the sea of amber. It was infuriating. He was reminded every time he looked in mirrors that he'd been so,  _so_ damn close to having lovely golden eyes.

They neared the railing and a squeal of panic later, Dipper's arms were wrapping around his neck, clinging desperately. "What the heck, man?! I like it!" he explained, a frantic edge to his tone. "And… and you were like,  _fingering_ my birthmark a second ago, let me have this!"

The mild annoyance across Bill's face became a look of amusement. "Looks like someone got the suicide scared outta them."

Dipper's chest was rising and falling against him erratically, and his voice cracked, "It's not suicide if you throw me over!"

A hum escaped him. "Assisted suicide. Besides, no one would be able to tell the difference. I'll just tell Stan you were fucking around and fell." Stan would believe him, and be pissed off Dipper was so stupid.

Bill could feel the kid shudder against him. "Please no," Dipper said a bit breathlessly, his delicate fingers scraping along his dress shirt collar as he grasped for purchase, seemingly still afraid he was at risk of being tossed overboard.

Tipping his chin up, Bill enjoyed the sensation of Dipper's nails scratching at his skin. "Hmm, I dunno Pine Tree. You haven't wholly convinced me to not release you like a baby bird being kicked out of the nest. Although, you can't fly. Splat."

"Okay, what do you want?" he asked distractedly, fingers moving down to his…

Wait. Was he playing with his bowtie?

Bill face dropped into a displeased scowl. "To drop you." This was wearing his patience thin. If that fucker undid it—

The threat seemed to do the trick, his worried eyes were back on him instead of the bowtie. He could see Dipper swallow hard, shaking his head silently — in fear. Much better.

"How old are ya, kid?" Bill asked.

Dipper's lips twitched downward, squirming for a second in his arms as his eyes flicked to the edge of the balcony and the city below. "I don't—" a frustrated noise tumbled from him as he seemed to be collecting his thoughts, "...Can we sit down first?"

Bill wasn't budging until he got what he wanted. "No."

"Nineteen."

Honestly, he hadn't expected that. Bill's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow, and you weigh like fifty pounds? How are you alive?"

He quivered, the sniffling making a return and his eyes growing misty. Probably shouldn't have said 'alive' but whatever, Bill figured he had to get over it sooner or later. Then came the weak protest, "...I weigh more than that. Like, at least one hundred something."

He snorted softly, moving to set Dipper back onto the sofa. Or more accurately drop him and watch the kid flail for a second, oh well. He wasn't here to coddle the boy. "We need to get you on a scale." He reached down to cup a single hand around his leg near his ankle. "Look at how tiny this is!" Even with the fuzzy pine tree pajamas, it fit within his hand.

"H-hey!" he snapped offendedly, pulling the leg away and tucking it neatly underneath him, out of reach. Dipper ran a hand through his hair, flopping back onto the patio sofa's cushions and looking at him wearily. "So… you said your parents are dead too?"

"Yup." Bill didn't have much to say on the topic of his parents. They died. He killed them. His bad.

"What happened?"

"They couldn't get out of a burning building in time." He may have tied them up. Hehe, his hand slipped. Oops, he accidentally spilled some gasoline on their stupid fucking faces and lit a match.

Not that Dipper needed to know that.

Sympathy glittered in Dipper's eyes, and he wiped the excess tears away again. "Wow," he searched for words, "...I'm sorry."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he said, "Mm-hmm, it was quite tragic." After removing his black gloves, Bill reached into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Yes, Dipper should be apologizing for the death of his beloved dogs, not the human scum that killed them.

"Was it…" he trailed off for a moment, hand making a strange motion like the limb was having a seizure, and coughed, "gang-related?"

Bill shrugged as he lit the cigarette and brought it to his lips. "It was a family matter. You want one?"

For the first time, Dipper seemed to notice the cigarette and the offer to have one caused the kid to wrinkle his nose in obvious distaste. "Those are terrible for your health."

"Yeah, and so is jumping off a balcony 'cause you wanna die." He blew a cloud of smoke in Dipper's direction. They could do both and see which of them wound up in a casket quicker.

His face scrunched into something pouty, and he waved his hands to dissipate the smoke. "But I didn't."

"Would you have chickened out if I hadn't come over?"

That question seemed to stump him for a couple moments, and he pulled his legs in tighter. "I don't know," he admitted, lifting his shoulders as he cast his eyes downward, still red from crying. "It's just… overwhelming, and it  _hurts_ , I ...I don't know what to do."

Bill patted him on the head, a little awkwardly because he didn't know how to console the kid. He kept crying and could probably give every fountain in Los Santos a run for its money. "Living's a good start." The cigarette returned to his lips, the orange embers glowing in the dark.

"Says the guy who was ready to kill me twenty minutes ago."

"Look, you were ready to kill yourself thirty minutes ago. We've made a lot of progress."

They fell into silence for a couple seconds until Dipper emitted a deep exhale, his eyes closing in thought. "It's like all I can think a-about," a sad hiccup, "is how they were laying there. Just, in their  _blood_ , it was…" his entire frame shuddered as he trailed off.

Christ. Where did Stan get this bag of emotion? "Then stop thinking about it, Pine Tree." Seriously, he was kind of being a Debbie Downer. All he wanted was a cigarette and some time with his telescope this evening, and what he'd gotten was heaps of feels from this sap.

He made a low keening sound. "That's like telling a cancer patient to just… stop having cancer."

"Exactly! It's easy. Stop."

"I think I'm speaking on behalf of everyone in Los Santos when I say I'm really glad you're not a doctor."

Heh.

Wolfishly, Bill grinned at him. "Oh, but I  _am_." Maybe he didn't have as many doctoral degrees as Ford, but he had two,  _and_ graduated in a stunningly short amount of time.

The look on that kid's face was legendary, well worth the response as the color drained from him. "Cat got ya tongue, Pine Tree? I can take a look at that." He wasn't actually skilled in the medical field, but seeing Dipper's reaction would be priceless anyway.

With a sharp inhale, he scooted further away and huffed, "Don't touch me."

"What, you don't want to feel how my fingers graze over your warm baby skin?" Bill wiggled his fingers at Dipper, the motion somewhere between threatening and playful.

"Why are you so  _creepy_ , man?"

"Why is your skin softer than a baby's butt?"

"Why have you been touching baby butts?" Dipper frowned.

"That's not the point, lil' Dippy." Keeping Dipper's mind off his parents' was giving a decent amount of credibility to his  _Just Stop_  method, not that he would ruin it by telling Dipper what he was doing.

" _Don't_ call me that," it came out as a small whine, hardly convincing. "It's Dipper."

"Why should I?" His tone had become slightly challenging, wondering how Dipper would try to protect his nickname's honor. "You gonna make me, lil' Dippy?" At this point, he was just goading him on.

He could see the annoyance in Dipper's eyes as he spoke, "Come on, man. Don't be a dick."

" _Make me_." Bill didn't think Dipper had the balls to do anything about it.

After seemingly endless seconds of deliberation through a contemptuous gaze, Dipper's response was attempting to punch him in the shoulder. Bill's lightning reflexes snapped into action, catching his fist in the air and noting how soft and squishy his hand was. He squeezed. "It's like I caught a ball of noodles."

That seemed to only frustrate him further, and he used the other hand to try to land another punch since the first had failed so miserably. Bill caught this one too with ease, smirking at him. "This is pathetic." Not that he expected any better from a kid that'd grown up in the lap of luxury, both parents formerly involved in politics; he probably had bodyguards accompanying him everywhere while mommy and daddy paid for every spoiled endeavor of his life.

A kid like that wouldn't know a single thing about fighting, especially not this one. Bill was just surprised he didn't have flowers in his hair.

Dipper apparently realized he was out of options as he struggled to free his wrists from his grip, groaning, "Can you just call me Dipper? Lil' Dippy makes me sound like I'm either ten or some lame rapper."

"To be fair, I can't see you being a  _good_  rapper." Bill released his hands, watching as he flopped back into the patio sofa. "You'd sound like a twelve year old going through puberty."

Dipper let out a sad laugh, "According to my sister, I already sound like that."

"Your sister is a wise gal."

He saw Dipper's expression twist in pain, darkening — fuck, here we went again with the tears and sniffling. Bill had hoped they were beyond this since he had the guy distracted for several minutes, it'd been good.

Ugh.

What a child. If he had known killing the mayor and her hubby would leave them babysitting their adult (cry)baby, he would have told Robbie to either  _not bother_ or  _kill all of them_. This was just annoying. "You should be grateful," he murmured off-handedly. "Those Ravagers can be brutal. Reckless and relentless, always trying to beat Stan and Ford at being top dogs." The brothers were at the top for a reason, and a part of it was their natural talent of staying there. Wasn't a secret that they were the best at what they did. He finished the remainder of his cigarette, smoke billowing from his mouth.

"I don't understand why they had to kill my parents, of all people." It was mournful, his eyes glazed as they stared at the gradually-brightening skyline as rays of dawn sunlight started to peek over.

"It's for status," Bill said, flicking the cigarette stub over the edge of the balcony.

Dipper choked, "That's so messed up."

All Bill did was shrug dismissively. "Nah, that's just the way things are here. Kill or be killed, kiddo. It's almost like you've never stepped foot in Los Santos."

"Doesn't make it any less messed up."

"It's life. That's like saying a lion killing an antelope for food is fucked up."

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "A lion wouldn't kill an antelope  _for status_ , jerk."

A laugh. "Kid, in this city,  _status_  may as well be food. If you don't have a known reputation, you can go rot in the sewers. No one will hire someone wet-behind-the-ears."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. The one sipping soda through an owl mask looked so intimidating."

...the fuck was he on about now?

It clicked: the board dedicated to identifying the Ravagers. Of course. "That guy in the owl mask is probably the most dangerous one, considering he's killed hundreds of people." He paused. "Our crew doesn't even know who he is."

Oh, but here was the fun part, the real clincher: he most certainly did know.

And he took vicious delight in the knowledge that it was  _him_ , and he enjoyed his owl mask immensely. He knew having a mask of Ford's favorite animal (Ford definitely had a weird boner for owls) in a rival gang would piss him off, and it worked like a charm. Ford fucking loathed Owl Mask, not that he had any idea who it was.

The concern was keeping things that way.

His mind returned to their most recent job, the assassination of Dipper's parents and although he'd been there, Bill didn't even do the actual killing; nevertheless, he wanted the boy to fear him. All he touched was that pretty golden lion, that was now the newest piece of his victim collection.

"Yeah, I kind of got that from the question marks." There was a pause, and his gaze settled on him again, surprisingly bright. "So, why do you guys need to know that stuff anyway? Having a whiteboard of your… enemies," the word seemed to be used tentatively, "is super weird."

"How so?" Bill inquired. "We like to keep tabs on our enemies. Maybe your parents would've been better off if they'd done the same."

He'd never seen someone look so furious in such a short amount of time, and the next thing he knew, there was a stab of pain right below his knee.

That  _little shit_ —!

Dipper had fucking kicked him _._

Time to  _really_ throw him off the balcony. "You're going to regret that, Sapling." His voice had dropped to a growl as he menacingly stepped toward him.

"Kiss my ass, I fucking hate you." It would have been perhaps  _slightly_ intimidating if there weren't tears streaming down the kid's face and dripping down onto his folded arms.

"The feeling's mutual, you ungrateful fuck. I should've left you to jump." Should have shot him while he was unconscious, then he wouldn't have even had to deal with this.

Dipper shrunk back, and he could hear him mutter a small "maybe you should have" under his breath before collapsing further onto the patio sofa, splaying out on his stomach. "I don't want to be here."

"I wish you fucking weren't either. It wasn't my idea to bring you back here, kid. All you'll do is be a pest and get in the way of our work."

His response was harsh, "I'm sure the people you were about to go and kill will be glad I intervened." For being at his mercy, this kid sure had a mouth on him — he guessed it was possible that he really didn't care about living anymore. Well, he thought darkly, they could arrange a solution.

Bill scoffed at him. "This crew isn't heavy on killing, twerp. The Ravagers give gangs a bad name, Stan and Ford prefer to kill only if necessary. It's never for status and only for self-preservation."

"Then it's safe to assume they're not going to put a bullet in my head while I'm sleeping?" Dipper questioned, a cross between irritated and ...relief. Fucking hell, what kind of monsters had he thought they were? It wasn't like Stan or Ford actively encouraged murder since it led to negative consequences. Investigations. Drama. Several phone calls covering their asses.

" _They_  won't." Bill might. He was getting sick of this kid and was tempted to go back inside. And he would've a long time ago, maybe even let him jump, but there were things he needed to know before the kid offed himself. Or _he_ put him out of his misery.

"Well, you haven't thrown me off the balcony yet.  _Progress_." The last bit was sarcastic, downright mocking his earlier statement.

"You have no fucking idea how much I want to, brat. I wouldn't push it." Because if Dipper kept this up, he'd be joining dear ma and pa. As much as he wanted to know how much this kid had seen,  _if_ he'd seen him, it wasn't worth sitting through him being a whiny little bitch.

His flaring annoyance faded a bit when it seemed he got the message, quieting into a much-needed silence. The threat must have hit the mark and convinced him that he didn't want to die, or perhaps just didn't want to die via murder-from-the-balcony since Dipper's attention was trained on the sleepless city below as he picked mindlessly at the patio sofa's fabric.

Seizing this opportunity, Bill took a seat on the arm of the sofa. "What do you remember of the attack anyway, kid?" Since he wasn't being a bitch anymore, Bill figured he'd try to get as much information out of the kid as possible until he was being uncooperative again.

"Uh," Dipper cleared his throat, caught off guard by the question and Bill was actually surprised when he started recounting the details, "I.. I woke up to gunshots, a lot of them, enough to make our house shake," as he spoke, Bill could feel a growing pressure on the side of his thigh, and he glanced down to the sight of Dipper pushing his leg with his feet, "and m-my mom screamed." The rest seemed to catch in his throat for a moment, but it was a relief when tears didn't come. "I told Mabel to get the police."

The pressure suddenly became much more like a kick, clearly trying to dismount him from the armrest, and Bill took this as a clear sign he was supposed to move.

Onto Dipper's legs.

He plopped down without a care. "You were saying?"

Over his shoulder, he was spared an exasperated glare. "And… the rest— do you really need to know? I don't even want to think about it." The distress was slowly creeping into his voice and onto his face, his pupils pinpricks that seemed to be staring at something in the distance.

"What about the attackers?" Bill pressed, ignoring Dipper's protest. "Obviously they were the Ravagers, but I'd like any details you can recall. Clothing, masks, voices." Dipper seemed to be spacing off, so Bill flicked him on his nose. He jerked back. "Pay attention, Sapling."

"I was," he protested but Bill merely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that was a flat out lie. He looked spacier than Soos strung out on pot.

"Lying to me isn't helping your case, kid."

"I can't think when you're crushing my legs."

"Would you like me to cut them off?"

He felt the kid squirm beneath him, but he didn't give him an inch. Dipper settled down again, complaining, "That'll probably be what happens if you keep sitting on them. Figured you'd know that,  _Doctor_."

"Keep talking like that, and I'll feed your legs to your sister in chili."

"Gross," he commented, then ran a hand through his hair nervously, fluffing the brown locks. "Look, I don't want to talk about…  _that_ , okay?"

He had a feeling he wasn't talking about the chili threat and was referring to the murder details but quite frankly, Bill didn't give a flying fuck about what he wanted. "I asked about the attackers, Pine Tree. Start talking." Or he'd make him.

"I don't remember." The response was guarded, said too quickly to be genuine in any regard. "There, is that what you wanted? Just get  _off,_  already."

"I think you're withholding some information from me, kid. Don't make this harder on yourself."

" _You're_ making this harder, not me!" he cried out, frustrated. "I didn't see anyone, I just… I saw them, m-my parents— that was all." After a second, Dipper grumbled with an inflection of sarcasm, "I'm  _sorry_ I can't help with your murder board, but I really don't remember."

His eyes slimmed to skeptical slits as he stared at Dipper, noting they would have to work on this. If that kid remembered  _anything_  about him during the attack, he'd need to squeeze it out before it was spilled to Stan and Ford. They'd kill him. Having a divided loyalty between two gangs was bad enough but to be a part of a rivaling one… He'd be so fucking dead.

Bill couldn't risk that. His life was far more important than the life of this man-child, and he wouldn't sit by while the kid was a threat to his own preservation. He  _knew_  the kid recognized him from somewhere, he saw it in his eyes, the look so familiar since it was often written across his victims' terrified faces before they took a last breath. There was no way he couldn't remember anything, that lying fuck.

Still, he couldn't accuse the kid without suspicion being drawn to him. He needed to figure out a way to get close to this Dipper, to get him to squeal before Stan did. "Are you  _sure_  you only saw your parents?"

He observed keenly as Dipper bit his lip, the redness draining from his cheeks, and he felt Dipper shift uncomfortably beneath him. "Y-yeah, something like that."

That wasn't an acceptable answer, Pine Tree! He was tempted to holler at the stupid kid, scare him into talking. " _Something_  like that?" Bill pressed with some impatience. "What else did you see, kid?"

Dipper puffed out an exasperated breath. "Jeez, can you give it a rest?! I don't know what your obsession with this is but seriously, man." Those big damn eyes of his had tears in them again, and he strained brokenly, " _My parents just died_."

Had he not made it clear he didn't fucking care? People died all the time, it wasn't unusual in Los Santos. They were simply a number in the grand scheme of the cosmos. "Go to bed, kid." His voice had dropped to an agitated growl, displeased by how their discussion had gone. "You're useless right now." Bill shuffled to return to his spot on the arm of the sofa, freeing Dipper's legs.

Dipper seemed to be waiting for the moment since he quickly swiveled to pull them away, standing from the sofa only to wobble dangerously, not unlike a fawn learning to walk, and he caught himself on the railing. "So boring that you put my legs to sleep," he muttered under his breath before stiffly walking toward the sliding door, heading inside without another word.

"Wish I could put you to sleep," Bill quietly murmured as he looked to the sky. He was real sick of the kid already, and there was an itch in his fingers to pull out his gun and put him down like he watched Robbie do to his parents. He would abstain from that though… for now. Until he got more information out of that damn kid. In the meantime, he wanted to enjoy what he could of the fading stars because if it weren't for Dipper, he would've been able to watch the whole beautiful show of constellations.

What a selfish fuck.

The only upside had been the birthmark, but it was a shame it had to be attached to such a pain-in-the-ass brat.

A tempting thought occurred to him: if he killed Dipper, he could probably make a human skin wallet with that birthmark, touch it whenever he wanted, and never hear another sassy word from that kid's mouth. Excellent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks: we're currently on vacation but still are going to try to get regular updates out for this fic. What this means is we don't have a lot of spare time & unfortunately won't be able to respond to comments yet (but we will get to it, promise.) Hopefully, chapter dedications will make up for our inability to reply to comments for about a week — with that said, this chapter is for the lovely Piqued Penguin.

The hallway loomed before him, everything intact, nothing out of place. It was perfect, so serene. Dipper inhaled as he gathered his courage and took a step forward.

But there was something wrong when a forming darkness loomed over him, the walls closing in and the room stretching as he walked. He knew his bare feet were brushing over the soft fabric of the rugs but couldn't feel the sensation, his senses seemed to be completely turned off except for the increasingly-crushing dread. Although he knew it was a bad idea, Dipper raised his eyes to the end of the hall, and there he saw it. His face drained of color. Every inch of him was frozen.

The golden lion.

It was like the weight of the world settled on his ribcage. Every time he made a ragged gasp for air it only squeezed more oxygen from him.

The mansion erupted into the sounds of gunfire and shouting, the screams panicked and shrill and he couldn't even tell if  _he_ was the one making that noise as everything went red but knew he needed to get out, needed to escape or he was going to die. In the next second, he was falling, soaring toward the floor but could do nothing to stop it, muscles rendered utterly useless because his body was paralyzed.

There was a coppery tang in his mouth. The unmistakable taste of blood. A horrifying realization came to him: he'd been caught in the crossfire and was bleeding out, watching the world blur together as his blood gushed from him—

With a terrified gasp, Dipper's eyes flew open to reveal that he was still in the guest bedroom.

Safe. Not about to be sprayed by bullets, nor bleeding to death.

And gradually, he tried to get his racing heart to relax. Although he wasn't in immediate danger, his breathing was was still erratic and rushed, like he couldn't get enough oxygen into his system no matter how many desperate gulps of air he took.

The familiar tidal wave of grief had Dipper's throat tightening, but no tears came this time. After everything that'd happened last night, he felt cried out, too exhausted to physically express his misery, but he shoved his pain aside to wonder how Mabel was doing. Their last conversation had been filled with mournful sobs and hardly-intelligible words, and he'd felt so helpless, an absolute failure of a brother, being unable to bring comfort to her.

Glancing to his side, he was startled to notice that Mabel was gone, sending a bolt of worry through him because after talking with Bill, he distinctly recalled curling up beside her, so where—

A sudden rise of laughter coming from the next room gave him a clue of where she might be, but he remained wary.

With the laughter fading and giving way to muffled chatter, Dipper dragged himself out of bed and slipped into a fresh pair of clothing, but even his beloved plaid shirt didn't ease his grieving mind. It only made his heart ache harder since the garment smelled of home.

He exited the guest bedroom only to find his suspicions confirmed: the main living space was bustling with people. Rubbing the sleep from his vision, he squinted to make sense of what was happening, the copious amount of sunlight stinging his eyes but he could see a rather cheery Mabel perched on the secular sofa with Bill and Stan as the television droned on in the background, meanwhile Ford was stationed at a nearby whiteboard.

He was relieved upon determining it was the one with maps and blueprints, not the board with faces of rival gang members on it. He still found the concept sickening.

Mabel was gesturing wildly, talking about some thing or another — he couldn't quite hear the details over the sound of Stan's laughs and comments. Even Ford seemed to dip into the conversation once and a while, the only one unengaged was Bill. He was on his phone, probably looking up murder porn or baby butts or something. Creep.

It was strange to see him awake again, and he was left wondering if Bill ever slept. But to be fair, it likely didn't take much rest to keep a stone heart beating.

Interestingly, it seemed like he was even wearing the same clothes at a glance, but a moment of closer inspection deemed this untrue — although they were mostly the same color, the patterns were different. Did he just have a closet full of yellow and black suits with subtle differences?

Dipper internally groaned as he remembered the encounter with him the previous night, or perhaps it was early this morning, that'd left him with mixed thoughts on the guy. Mostly negative. Borderline completely negative. The bottom line was Bill had been a total dick to him while all he'd wanted to do was grieve for his lost parents.

"Kid!" Stan had noticed him though he'd been standing there a while, turning in the sofa to greet him. "Did ya get knocked out or somethin'? It's noon! We've been waiting for ya to get your ass out of bed all morning. I was tempted to unleash Mabel on ya."

Following Stan's line of sight, Mabel smiled and waved at him with enthusiasm in her movements. "Hi bro-bro! About time!"

He balked when his eyes rested on the clock, confirming Stan's statement. It was noon already? It didn't seem possible since he could rarely sleep past ten on any given day, but he figured he'd been exhausted from… well, everything.

Snapping him from his thoughts, Mabel said, "Don't just stand there, come relax on the comfy sofa and watch some TV!" She motioned to the spot beside her own, and he wasn't sure how she could be so cheerful considering the wound was fresh, but nevertheless moved to sit beside his sister.

Although he was tempted to ask how long she'd been awake, that could wait until later; her positive attitude (while not unusual for Mabel was extremely odd under the circumstances) had him concerned, and the fact she'd spent her morning getting friendly with a criminal gang wasn't helping. It was nice that she was no longer bottling the grief by staying in Sweater Town and avoiding contact with everyone, refusing to utter a single word, but this couldn't be healthy either. Maybe she just managed her emotions better than he did.

Dipper scanned the room, noting it looked less eerie in the noon light with the bright sun rays warming the furniture instead of giving it a ghastly glow. His eyes drifted to Stan, and he remembered that he'd said something about waiting for him earlier. "You've been waiting for me?" he questioned, wondering what they could want from him but hoping it was unrelated to what'd happened with Bill… Had he told anyone about his half-hearted suicide attempt? A stone formed in his stomach as he thought about the rest of Stan's crew knowing… or Mabel. The thought was enough to make him shudder: anyone but Mabel, she couldn't know about the moment he perceived as weakness.

"Well, no. Not really. We've mostly been waiting on Wendy and Soos to get their asses here in prep for a job." Wendy was a familiar name, but Soos? Upon seeing his confusion, Stan clarified, "They're members of our crew, but they don't live here. And now they can't as long as you're here, since we don't have room unless they wanna sleep on the floor."

"Stanley, the others, and I will be heading out on a standard reconnaissance mission," Ford informed him, only briefly looking away from the maps of various locations in Los Santos, "and you and Mabel will be using today to acquire whatever you'll need to be comfortable while staying with us."

Stan translated his brother's statement, "Bill will be babysitting you and chauffeuring you around to shop."

Well, that was just wonderful.

From beside him, he heard Mabel sharply inhale in excitement only to whine, "But we don't have any money! What do you want us to do,  _steal_?" Dipper could answer that for her: no, they were  _not_  going to stoop to these criminals' level because even if they were being forced to live with them for a while, they were better than that.

Luckily, Stan echoed his thoughts and clarified, "There'll be no need to steal, sweetie!" While relieved they wouldn't be thieves, Dipper frowned as he realized something — Stan called her  _sweetie_ , a… a term of endearment, and he decided Mabel was definitely getting too close to these people. The point was to keep them at arm's lengths, not befriend a pack of criminals. "You'll be using our cards. If they bitch about the names being scratched off, tell them to suck a lemon."

Dipper's gaze snapped to Bill who hadn't even looked up from his phone during this discussion. "Does  _he_ have to go with us?" he asked, the inquiry directed at Stan since he was pretty sure he would prefer anyone else. "I don't think he's qualified to babysit. He was  _literally_ sitting on me this morning." Not just once, but multiple times, and that wasn't even scraping the surface of the other instances of manhandling, or when he thought it was appropriate to start touching his birthmark in the most disturbing way possible.

Stan laughed, brushing away the concern. "Sounds like a great babysitter to me! But yes, you're stuck with Bill. No one else is available today to look after ya."

Still examining the whiteboard and making notes, Ford said, "We've made the best of being stuck with him. You'll learn to as well."

"Love ya too, Fordsy." Bill finally spoke, though his eyes remained on the illuminated screen of his phone, meanwhile Dipper was surprised to hear from him, as he hadn't thought he was paying attention to the conversation.

He wished he could add in a follow up question — was Bill a total asshole to everybody, or just him? It seemed to be leaning toward the former, but it was like Stan and Ford actually had developed a tolerance for it.

"Oh, and Bill? Don't get attached to these two." Stan couldn't finish before Mabel cut in, exclaiming: "We  _are_  really lovable!" followed by a scoff from Bill. "We're releasing them once shit calms down. Looks like it's finally on, too." Stan beckoned toward the large flat screen television, where the news anchors were covering the murders and 'kidnappings.'

"An investigation of the gruesome scene has led to more questions than answers, and the Los Santos Police Department has been working tirelessly in this case to determine the whereabouts of..." it droned on but he'd tuned out already, caught up in his thoughts. The report seemed to be under the impression the Ravagers had kidnapped them because of the insignia left behind at the scene.

He grew light-headed as a picture of him and Mabel appeared on the screen, and the anchors advised anyone who had details of their locations to call the police immediately.

It felt like a weird fever dream to be seeing his family on television like this. His parents, being politicians, made several appearances but the coverage of their murders… it was much different. It was dizzying, and he couldn't believe what was before his eyes. The surreal sensation had returned.

"The media has been droning on about a supposed kidnapping for hours now," Ford supplied, "so it remains in your best interest to stay here."

Dipper hardly heard Ford, too entranced by what he was seeing on the screen and rendered unable to look away as everything hit him again. Even now, it didn't seem like this could be reality. His reality, at least. Any second now, he would be waking from this nightmare and be safe in his bed, his parents alive and all of this erased, put behind them.

The sound of the door opening stole his attention, and he looked in time to see two individuals, talking amongst each other, enter the penthouse. One was a younger female, red headed and sporting a relaxed smile, and the other was a male, slightly on the pudgy side and looking nervous. His knuckles tapped together.

Dipper inferred they must be Soos and Wendy, the fellow crew members Stan had mentioned waiting for earlier.

"Hey!" the female greeted them, brushing her hair out of her face.

Her companion joined her in the greetings. "Hey dudes!"

"Wendy, Soos, perfect timing," Ford addressed the newcomers and moved from the whiteboard, gathering several backpacks that laid near the door, offering it to the pair. "Take these, you'll be needing them today."

"You got it," Wendy responded with a decisive nod, then peered beyond Ford as her eyes flicked from him to Mabel. "Are these the kids you mentioned?"

Soos followed her line of sight, giving them a kind wave. "Yeah, I don't think I recognize the two of you.." he let out a soft chuckle before correcting himself. "Well, I do, but it's nice to meet you in person."

"You betcha," Stan said. "But they won't be accompanyin' us. They're only here for their own safety, not to help us out."

And that was a good thing, Dipper noted silently. He didn't think he wanted to dabble in their line of work.

"We'll have time for introductions later. Now, are both you ready to depart?" Ford asked, indicating the question was for Soos and Wendy.

"Yep!" They answered in near unison.

"Alright, let's go," Stan said. "Kids, have fun with Bill! Don't let him drive ya off a cliff!" The door slammed behind him, leaving him and Mabel alone with the man in question. He looked disinterested, but that was nothing new.

But Dipper couldn't stop himself from muttering, "Not a bad fate if the alternative is a day with you." He was hoping Bill would drive them where they needed to go, and that would be the extent of his involvement. Even better, he could blatantly disobey Stan and leave them to fend for themselves, and that wouldn't be an issue because Dipper was quite fluent in navigating public transportation in this city.

Bill glanced up from his phone. "Sorry, was that the wind PMSing in my ear?"

"No, that's just Dipper!"

Dipper flushed, wanting to elbow Mabel. She was supposed to be on his side, not helping Bill make fun of him since he already seemed to be inclined to do so.

"Ah, so a PMSing twink. Hot."

And now he didn't know which one to yell at, but huffily settled on, "I thought we determined I wasn't blond enough for that."

Bill shrugged, his attention returning to his phone as he flicked the page down with his fingertip. "That's what hair dye's for, cutie."

"Oh? I would've never guessed since yours just looks so natural," he snarked, raising an eyebrow.

Bill's expression darkened. "Looks better splattered with the blood of a PMSing little bitch."

Although he shuddered at the thought, he didn't feel particularly threatened when Bill had many opportunities to off him last night when there were no witnesses around, and the important piece was that he hadn't. He didn't know why Bill hadn't let him jump but was thankful for it, not that he was convinced he would've been able to do it anyway.

The television snagged his attention again, commercials coming to an end to feature more coverage on his parents' deaths. He watched as the news anchor gave what information they currently had, and proceeded to cut to a shot of witness interviews — something stirred in him, something…  _frustrated_. Dipper didn't know why he felt irrationally angry toward them, but he did. They talked as if they knew their parents, as if they knew  _them_. As if they knew a single thing about the situation.

He felt sick again and didn't want to keep watching.

"Hey Mabel," he started, an anxious edge in his voice, "can we talk somewhere?" He shot a sideways glance at Bill, not that he noticed, being too captivated by his phone to care. "Alone, I mean."

"Uh," Mabel seemed to hesitate, like she wanted to hang out with Bill longer, and he was worried he may have his hands full. They needed to talk about this. "Sure!"

Before Stan left, he'd told Bill not to get attached to them. As far as Dipper was concerned, the same rule should apply to Mabel for everybody's safety; getting attached to these people would only lead to trouble.

With her agreement, Dipper gently snatched her wrist and led her to their bedroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the ivory-painted wood, frowning in sympathy as he looked at her. "What are you doing?" He hadn't intended it to sound so accusatory. "How long have you been talking with them?"

She stepped away from him, in favor of flopping onto the bed, her arms and legs splaying out carelessly on the ruffled sheets. "Oh, I dunno! I talked to them a lot this morning while you were asleep. They're pretty nice!"

"What? No." The response was automatic and he shook his head quickly, even more concerned. "No, Mabel, they aren't  _nice_ ," that was like calling a ticking bomb 'nice', "they're… criminals, gangsters, murderers." She could pick a word, none were flattering. He didn't care how nice they seemed to be, they were the epitome of what was morally wrong about society!

"I think you need to get out of your head a bit more and  _actually_  talk to people for once!"

"We're not here to make friends!" he stressed. "These people are  _dangerous_." Sure, they had the appearance of being refined when they were all standing around chatting, but he knew all that could slip at the drop of a hat if necessary.

"C'mon bro-bro, we should make the most of this. Being pouty because a group of  _nice_  guys took us in after… yesterday… isn't being a good guest. Lighten up!" She threw a pillow in his direction, and he grunted as it smacked him in the face before falling to the floor.

"But… criminals!" Dipper squeaked, motioning toward the door — well, more specifically what was on the other side. " _Criminals!_ " He was horrified to learn they had managed to win over Mabel's affection with smooth words, and he didn't want her to get hurt.

"Just because you're a criminal doesn't mean you're a jerk. You're being more mean than they are!"

"Look, I don't know about the others, but Bill is a jerk, confirmed." Last night or this morning—whatever—had demonstrated that without a doubt. As for Stan and Ford, he didn't know them well enough to come to any conclusion other than 'gang-member-to-be-avoided' and the same went for Wendy and Soos.

Mabel shook her head, rolling in the bed. "Sounds like you haven't talked to Bill! He's really funny and charming."

There it was, that was what he was afraid of, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He recognized Bill could be outwardly charming, but that was how he lured in his  _victims_.

"Though…" she paused thoughtfully, "he may have threatened to cut off my fingers, but that was only because I tried to touch his piano! Other than that, he's great!"

Dipper blinked for a moment—the baby grand in the penthouse was  _his_ piano?—but shook off the thought since there were bigger problems to consider. "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about! Nice people don't  _do_ that!" Especially not over touching a piano, concluding that Bill was certainly not great, he was far from it.

"You just don't get out enough." She dismissed his concerns with a small wave of her hand. How could she be so careless, throwing caution to the wind like this when she knew as well as he did that it was a terrible idea?

"Mabel!" Dipper whined. "You're not listening to me! We can't trust these people, we don't even know if they actually have good intentions or if that's just a front to get us to fall into their trap of deceit." He wasn't putting anything past them. They were living outside the law and morals of society, and he doubted they would stop at anything to get what they wanted.

Mabel began to shake her head. "You're sounding more paranoid than grandpa when he got diagnosed with–"

"Hey cuties!" A knock on the door interrupted her. "Are ya ready to go shopping? Stan wants us back before they are."

"Not a good time, man!" he snapped to Bill. Didn't he realize they were trying to have a private discussion in here? This was important to him, a conversation they needed to have because he couldn't lose Mabel too. Dipper wasn't done trying to get through to his sister, wishing he could make her see this wasn't a good path to blindly trust everybody on.

Already up from the bed and halfway across the room, she tsked him as she opened the door, a movement that knocked him forward. "You need to be nicer, Dipper! No wonder you don't have friends!" With that, Mabel was gone, bounding out of the bedroom to head to who-knew-where.

Bill smirked as he stepped into the room, successfully ruining any plans Dipper had of trying to close him out again. "You should really listen to your sister, Pine Tree. You're the black sheep of the penthouse right now, which sucks for ya 'cause you stick out like a sore thumb on our white furniture."

Dipper retorted, "I don't  _want_ to fit in here. If I did, I'd be no better than you."

"Would you rather be pulp on the sidewalk? I can arrange that if you'd like."

A short, bitter laugh escaped him as he remembered how Mabel had called Bill  _nice_ , so nice that he was outright threatening to kill him. What an upstanding fellow, this one was. "I'll pass, thanks." Dipper shuffled to squeeze past Bill through the doorway.

It was thwarted when he felt Bill's fingers grasp the collar of his shirt, pulling him back into Bill. Arms closed around him, Bill lifted him up into a bridal style position as he squawked in alarm, instinctively tensing and trying to cling to Bill to avoid being dropped. Like last night, he didn't find the sudden manhandling to be the most pleasant experience, but there was still worse he could do.

He was carried out of the room and toward the door to the balcony, and though his grip tightened, he maintained what he hoped was a brave face even as he was being held hundreds of feet above the streets of Los Santos while horror flooded through him. This was what Bill had been waiting for, he'd waited until they were relatively alone with no Stan and Ford around and no witnesses and Mabel somehow thought he was a nice guy so she'd probably say it was an accident…

"Any last words, my little portefeuille de peau?"

Before he could respond or question what the hell he'd just called him, Mabel was bouncing over with a gleeful "hey!" as she joined them on the balcony. After seeing the way Bill was carrying him, she asked with increasing excitement, "What's going on? Is this your honeymoon? Can I go?"

"Dude! Let me down!" Dipper complained, but didn't dare struggle in his grip in case he actually managed to free himself; he didn't trust Bill to keep an unwavering grasp, and he didn't want to go soaring toward the pavement.

"I dunno," Bill contemplated, a twisted smirk etched on his face. "I like the honeymoon idea, sugar."

Blushing fiercely from the implication, he  _really_ wanted to squirm away but couldn't do much except cling to Bill. Dipper's voice cracked as he said, "No way, man! You are the absolute  _worst_."

In response, Bill chuckled. "But I'm the best in bed. You wanna ride, cutie? I could show you a good time."

" _Oh my god_ ," he whined, desperately wishing he could cover his face with his hands but not daring to let go of Bill despite feeling fairly secure in his arms. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be hearing this. "Mabel, help!"

"Is that a yes?"

Mabel squealed. "This is soo  _cute_! Say yes, Dipper! Ooh, I wish Stan didn't make me leave my phone behind! But after we're done shopping today, we can make an 'Everytime We Touch' music video starring you two!"

That wasn't helpful at all. In fact, he was pretty sure it made things worse. After a second of consideration, he sighed irritably and directed his gaze to Bill's,  _loathing_ that stupid smirk on his face. "Court me first, asshole." It was a snippy joke— he ultimately just wanted to be allowed back on his feet again. On safe ground.

Somehow, his smirk seemed to grow. Dipper's stomach dropped. "Consider it done, cutie." He released him by lightly setting his feet onto the ground. "Are you two ready to go shopping?"

Dipper shook his head and explained, "I need to shower before we go anywhere." He hadn't showered since yesterday, before… he willed himself not to get choked up, he couldn't break down again. Not when Mabel seemed to be okay.

"Be quick, cutie. Think of me while you're scrubbing yourself. I know I'll be thinking of you." He winked.

Frowning, he rolled his eyes as he stalked away, but before he disappeared into the bathroom, he called over his shoulder to Bill, "I can't believe I liked it better when you were a dickwad."

After fifteen minutes or so, Dipper finished showering and drying off. He had heard shuffling outside and Mabel and Bill talking quietly, and that was… concerning. Very concerning.

Stepping outside the bathroom once he was dressed, the following scene unfolded: Bill and his sister were chittering quietly, grins on their faces, and they broke away conspicuously once they saw him watching. He caught a glimpse of Bill shoving  _something_  dark into his pocket. Probably another item that he could use to kill them with while they were out. Honestly, Dipper was still distrustful of everyone in the crew.

"Cutie!" Bill greeted him. "Did you think of me?"

Flatly, he replied, "I thought about how much I hate you, yeah."

Why did that smirk never go away? "You love me so much you think you hate me."

"Pretty sure I just straight up hate you." With the death of his parents, his emotions were a complete mess and had betrayed him on plenty of occasions recently, but this he knew was certainly true. He did not like Bill.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed without a care in the world, "that's what you think. Are you ready to go yet, my darling mirror warmer?"

His eyes narrowed at the biting  _endearment_ , and Dipper asked sarcastically, "You're not going to give me a chance to put on my makeup?"

"Are you going to take an hour like all the other ladies?"

Having had his fill of Bill's dumb antics, Dipper brushed past him to collect his shoes and slide them on. Already antsy to leave, Mabel stood in the entryway, looking like she was about to burst from happiness. Dipper could've groaned.

They left the penthouse together, going downstairs into the expansive garage. It was almost impressive how many expensive vehicles were in the building.

Mabel squealed in excitement as she ran toward the slew of golden cars parked together. "They're so SHINY!"

The owner was hardly a mystery. "Jeez, status symbol much?"

"Only for those who can't afford it," Bill responded with his everlasting smirk as he unlocked one of the many gold cars, the lights blinking on. "Get in, Pine Tree. Don't jizz on my seat."

Between the fancy paneling and cushioned leather seats, he could see why Bill wouldn't want any messes, lewd or not. "Don't worry," he said as he climbed in the passenger side, "looking at you will kill basically all of my arousal, forever." He could hear Mabel get in behind him, the door slamming closed, and leaned back in the seat to revel in the comfort. Even if he thought it was a dick move to show off his wealth via expensive vehicles, Dipper appreciated the luxurious interior that had the faint scent of spicy honey hanging in the air. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't place exactly where he'd smelled it before.

"Sounds like you might have erectile dysfunction. You want some viagra? I think Stan has some in his room."

Although Bill was probably joking (he hoped so, at least), he wondered why Stan would need it since he looked like he was in his thirties.

Mabel jumped into the discussion, her feet kicking his seat. "Is it because he has to sleep with the uptight one?"

Bill chuckled. "Yeah, must be  _hard_ to sleep with your own twin brother."

Was that a pun? He didn't want to dwell on it. "Wait, they're… brothers?" Dipper didn't know why he hadn't seen it before when it made sense in retrospect. He'd just never had an opportunity to look at them closely enough to realize the similarities in their features.

Bill nodded, getting into the driver's seat turning the ignition switch. The car came to life with a low rumble. "Did ya not notice, Pine Tree? Maybe you're not as bright as you pretend you are."

He hadn't seen them up close many times. Just once, really, and there'd been much bigger issues then. "Considering my parents were laying  _dead_ down the hallway," he snapped, "no, I didn't notice the similarities."

"You should pay more attention." They had pulled out of the garage, going onto the main road.

"Thanks, I'll remember that for the next time my parents are being slaughtered and two strangers who happen to be twin brothers are kidnapping me."

In the back, they could hear Mabel giggle. "Lover's quarrel! Are you going to kiss now?"

"Sure," Bill said with a noncommittal shrug. "Pucker up, sugar. Do it for your dear sister." Dipper tensed as they soared past a stop sign, wondering why Bill didn't even  _put his foot near the brake_. At this rate, they wouldn't make it to the mall.

He rested his body against the passenger door, putting as much space as he could between himself and Bill just in case he tried something. "Gross, no."

"Dipper," Mabel whined. "Please?"

"No!" Maybe Mabel had forgotten that he didn't like Bill. At all. And there was nothing genuine about… about whatever this weird roleplay was that Bill and Mabel were dragging him into.

"Ah," Bill said. "Still PMSing I see. Does that ever stop, or are you perpetually a little bitch?" Dipper motioned between himself and Bill, using the rearview mirror to glance at Mabel. "See what I mean? He's a jerk, not  _nice_."

"Guess that answers that." Bill's reply caused him to scowl. Their vehicle swerved into the other lane, causing bleating horns to erupt around them and Dipper to squeak in panic.

"What are you doing, man?!"

"Driving, you should try it sometime Pine Tree!" Yeah, he wasn't going to drive like a  _maniac_. They almost hit the car behind them, and he wondered if he even used a turn signal. He hadn't heard the indicator.

Mabel smiled at Dipper. "He's just playing! You should learn how to take a joke, Dippy Bro-bro."

Maybe he would be able to handle it better if it weren't constant, or if that dumb smirk wasn't always on his face while he did it. Bill's teasing was relentless and crude, and he wanted no part in this. "Playing or not, doesn't change the fact that he's a prick." Dipper hadn't forgotten last night, his threats and antagonizing and oh right,  _being sat on_ while he was obsessed with making him talk about his parents' murders. He didn't want to recount that horrible sight, it already haunted him enough as it was.

He could hear Bill hum beside him. They were rapidly approaching a traffic light, and Bill blasted through it as the yellow dot turned red. Yep, they were gonna die before they even got to shopping. "Don't you love it when girls PMS, Mabel? It's always them bitching about menial subjects. 'He's a jerk!'," he began to imitate, "'he slept with my mom and got my parents to divorce', 'he's the asshole who shanked my dad and mugged me!' Great Grus, they're such little bitches."  
Well. Bill clearly had some issues.

To his horror, Mabel made an affirming noise. "Been there, brother!" He shot her a warning look in the rearview mirror; again, she wasn't supposed to be fraternizing with these people, much less Bill who was probably the worst of them all. Sometimes, he wished his sister wasn't so likeable to everyone she met, since it now seemed she and Bill had a budding friendship which was founded on the apparently fun pastime: ganging up on him. He already got enough of that from them separately, so this was the last thing he needed.

Dipper's expression was twisted into a pout as he stayed leaned against the passenger door, arms folded in discontent while he listened to Bill cracking up in laughter. "Yeah, having Dipper as a sister puts you in that position a lot, doesn't it Shooting Star?"

He didn't want to hear her answer and interrupted their conversation with a question, "Where are we going, anyway?" He could see the iconic Vinewood sign in the distance, growing smaller as they headed deeper into the heart of the city.

"Shopping, Pine Tree! The closest mall around here is the Rockford Plaza."

Mabel brightened, squealing, "We're going to the mall?! Ohmygosh, this is the best day  _ever_! I can't wait to get new shoes, and dresses, and jeans, and—  _ooh_! A new phone!"

He wondered if it would be too late to ask if they could get a leash for Mabel, concerned her over-excitement would take over and she'd be a whirlwind through the mall, probably drawing all the attention to her.. which would be fine, except they were supposed to be laying low.

"Buy whatever you want." Bill glanced back at Mabel. "It's not my money you're spending, so go fuckin' crazy."

He heard Mabel screech eagerly and winced from the shrill sound. "Hope you're ready to tell Stan that he's completely broke later."

A rumble of laughter escaped Bill. "That'll be your jobs. Or don't tell him, and let him find out when he tries to buy booze."

"Geez, no thanks. Unlike you, he might actually have the guts to throw me off the balcony for that."

The amusement on Bill's face faded. "No, he wouldn't throw you off the balcony. He's too much of a softy to do that. He'll have me cut off your thieving fingers, though."

"Just mine?" Dipper raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't planning on buying out the mall." If only the same could be said for Mabel.

"Sorry, Pine Tree. She's sucked up to him so much he likes her."

"He calls me 'sweetie!'"

Dipper muttered flatly, "And Bill calls me 'sugar', but I wouldn't be caught dead sucking up to him." That reminded him of something that'd been nagging ever since last night, but he hadn't cared enough to question it before. Shifting his attention to Bill, he asked, "Speaking of, what's with the terms of endearment?"

"Would you rather me insult you until you run away like a crybaby?"

"They already sound like insults, it's like you're calling me fuckface every time you say  _cutie_."

Bill smirked. "You are a fuckface, cutie."

"Oh,  _swoon_ , you're stealing my heart, asshole," Dipper snapped sarcastically. "You suck at courting."

"Please doll, I haven't even started."

"Just kiss already!"

Dipper ignored her to muse, "Wonder what that'll entail. Should I expect mutilated animal corpses outside my bedroom door with creepy love notes attached?"

"No, but I will gift you pieces of your parents. Don't mind that they might be decaying a lil', cutie. Maybe that'll get you to shut the fuck up about them."

Paling, Dipper gagged at the mere idea and wasn't sure whether he wanted to sob or vomit. He had been trying so hard to get them off his mind and it'd been working too, but.. he suppressed a sigh. He didn't want to think about how he'd seen them last. He  _definitely_ didn't want to think about seeing pieces of them either, decaying pieces at that.

The sly smirk on Bill's face only grew. Like some monster from a horror movie. "I thought you'd like that. Can you just imagine their cold, rotting skin outside your door?"

"Knock it off." While he'd meant to growl, it sounded a little broken, shaky. He was fighting the nausea that threatened to overtake him— though, it would be satisfying to puke all over Bill's fancy car.

Bill looked like he was going to say more, but he glanced back at the sound of a sob behind them and remained silent.

The heartbreaking noise of Mabel's sadness stabbed him in the gut.

"Mabel?" Dipper asked, his voice gentle while his eyes searched the rearview mirror and landed on her. She had burrowed herself in her sweater, and he could see her body wrack as she cried. The sight was making him want to break down too, his throat tightening. "It's okay, Mabel. He didn't mean it. I swear." He was desperate to reassure her, to promise it was alright even though it certainly wasn't, and his eyes flashed with anger as they settled on Bill again _._

Bill met Dipper's gaze, and pointedly he reached to turn up the volume on the radio, masking the sounds of Mabel's sniffling with pop music.

Dipper just turned away from him, still furious that he'd been horrible enough to upset Mabel. If anything good would come of this, at least Mabel would see Bill was about as nice as stomping on a lego.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's for Benrito and Piqued Penguin -- thanks for your wonderful comments, we'll be responding when we can! 
> 
> Part one of a split chapter, the second part should be out in a few days & with that said, enjoy a fluffier installment featuring shopping shenanigans with these two dorks.

Flo Rida and Taio Cruz were significantly more pleasant to listen to than the whiny brats crying about their dead parents. Seriously, no one cared. Ever. Not now or in all of history. The only reason Stan and Ford wanted to save them in the first place was because their mother sucked at her job and had been lax on gang and criminal activity during her term as mayor.

Other than the kickass music, the ride had been silent. Dipper had been shooting him glares that he seemed to think were oh-so-subtle from the way he averted his gaze whenever Bill would look over, and he was sure Mabel was still hiding in her shirt, but why should he care? For a change, they were quiet about how horrible their pathetic lives were. Maybe he did feel a little bad about Mabel since she'd been good company earlier and he'd had fun harassing Dipper with her, but oh well. She'd live. Probably. Unless she pulled a Pine Tree and tried to jump.

That wasn't his problem though, and he was done playing savior for these brats since he wasn't the one set on sheltering them in the first place.

Bill pulled into the parking lot of Rockford Plaza and threw his car into park, turning the radio down enough to allow them to hear. "Come on, cuties!" He said, breaking the silence between them all as he turned his vehicle off. "Let's get something to eat, shall we? Cluckin' Bell is inside. It's on Stan." He sure as hell wasn't paying for the cheap sludge they called food.

Once they were seated in the food court and had their meals, Dipper was staring critically at said sludge. "I'm starting to think I'd rather not eat at all…"

"It's better than it looks," Bill assured him. "Trust me, the Stuffed Pollo Todo Frito is to  _die_  for." A little on the cruel side, but worth it since he could see Dipper's knuckles whiten where they grasped the edge of the table, and he gave his sister a concerned glance.

But Mabel seemed to have pulled herself together, picking up her fried chicken and digging in. "Why do they have weird food names?'

"Because kids love Little Peckers!" Why was she asking him? Bill wasn't the dumbass who decided these were acceptable names.

Dipper frowned and stirred in his seat. This kid was a serial fidgeter. "You're not helping my appetite here, man."

Bill chuckled softly. "You really need to ease up, Pine Tree. Relax for a change and enjoy your Fowlburger." It probably had rat shit in it, but Dipper likely wouldn't notice because of all the grease and what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. For now.

"How are you not seeing this?" he asked, using his fork to dismantle the hodgepodge of slop that Cluckin' Bell somehow passed off as food. There was a grease-coated meat patty inside, probably not entirely made of chicken or even thoroughly cooked, and a couple flecks of green and white spotted the bun. "It's disgusting."

"Not everyone is privileged enough to be accustomed to your fancy, home-cooked mayor meals." Bill took a bite of his wrap, nose wrinkling at the taste. It was like trying to chew a tub of animal lard.

"All I'm asking for is... slightly sanitary practices."

Mabel was already nearly done with her food, licking her fingers one-by-one and making smacking sounds. "You should try it, Dipper! It  _is_  better than it looks!"

"Um," he seemed to hesitate, looking over the burger before shaking his head. "I don't think I—"

"I call it!" Mabel was quick as lightning, snatching the food away from him to start eating it herself, making loud 'mm' noises as if to demonstrate what he was missing out on for passing up his chance with the burger while Dipper looked mildly horrified by the sight.

Bill was starting to understand why Dipper was as light as he was. Maybe skipping meals had stunted his growth too. "Kid, I really need to get you on a scale." He knew he had mentioned it before, but he kind of wanted to fatten him up in his spare time because as it was, it seemed like a gust of wind could blow Dipper away like a piece of paper. Would be fun to watch, but Stan wouldn't approve.

"I'm not getting on a scale to indulge you," he said dryly.

"I didn't say you'd do it willingly, cutie."

He caught the eye-roll that Dipper gave him. "What are you going to do, carry me onto it? I don't know what your deal is with picking me up."

Bill grinned, as he rather did like carrying the kid since it seemed to piss him off and it was a breeze to do. "That was the plan. I know my weight, it'd be easy to get yours." Did Dipper not think he'd do this? He was genuinely curious about his weight, and he'd get it whether Dipper was willing to give it up or not.

"Are you going to whip out a measuring tape to get my height too? Ford already gave me a physical last night, I don't need one from you."

"Sugar, if I gave you a physical it'd be a hell of a lot sweatier on your end."

Dipper paled, looking away, but Mabel cut in, "I love sweaters!"

"Sweat, Shooting Star. Not sweaters." It wasn't that he was interested in that whiny crybaby, Bill craved Dipper's reactions to sexual comments because they were amusing. It was one of the few things he enjoyed about the kid. "I'm referring to fucking Pine Tree senseless." At that, Dipper emitted a strangled sound, some sort of wheezy squeak of surprise as his eyes went wide.

His reaction didn't exactly scream enthusiasm but if Pine Tree did want sex at some point, Bill wouldn't mind getting a taste of the kid. Wasn't at the top of his to-do list but who was he to reject? He'd already fooled around with almost everyone else–with the exception of Ford who'd rejected his offer, but he'd get him someday. Determining how Dipper measured up to everybody was part of the fun. Besides, he'd never had the chance to cum on a constellation birthmark before.

Although Mabel seemed momentarily disappointed, her usual glee was back. "Oh… can I watch?"

He felt Dipper tense beside him, looking embarrassed and irritated. " _No_ , and we're not… not doing that."

That was worthy of a low snicker. "You say that now, but I'll get ya, sugar."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Just go get it on with someone else's mom and cause another divorce. Stay away from me."

Ah, he must've been listening to that comment he'd made earlier.

"I had sex with her daughter too," he informed him, triumphantly puffing his chest. "I could have sex with you if I wanted to. You'll cave soon." He'd turn the Big Dipper into the Milky Way.

Dipper's expression was skeptical, and he shook his head. "Uh, nope. Absolutely not. You're horrible, and I still hate you."

"For someone who says that so much, you say it fondly." Bill lightly flicked his arm, and Dipper responded by putting a bit more space between them.

"About as fondly as you call me  _cutie_ , jackass," Dipper retorted.

"I say that with the utmost fondness, honeybun."

Shooting Star was too focused on working down the Fowlburger to say anything. The pool of grease on her tray was about as disgusting as Dipper's personality, but amazingly, she was almost finished with it, choking down the last bite.

"When are we going shopping? I want to buy  _everything_!"

Dipper started rising from his seat. "Yeah, let's go, Mabel."

"Hold up you two." Bill got to his feet. "You can't go together. If anyone recognizes you, it's game over and you'll end up in the hands of some crooked cops. Split up, keep your head down." He didn't think they'd run into issues considering how oblivious the people of this city were, but it wasn't worth the risk. "And with that said, you don't even have money yet."

Which he immediately resolved, withdrawing two cards with scratched out names from his pocket and hanging them to the kids. They were under one of Stan's many adopted aliases, the true identity holder probably long dead. He followed the cards with two fat stacks of twenties. "Don't spend it all in one place, cuties! Let's meet back here when you're done, okay?"

"YES! WHEE!" Mabel had snatched the money up and was already on the move. "See you suckers later! Have fun making out!"

And with that, Mabel disappeared among the other shoppers, looking like she was on a mission. Bill wondered if Stan would regret giving that one access to one of his bank accounts.

It was mildly surprising when Dipper didn't take off as well, but before he could question it, Dipper turned to him. He fidgeted. Shuffled his feet a bit. Shoved his hands into his jean pockets.

Bill waited, eyebrows raised.

"Did… you, um, tell anyone?" Dipper asked, glancing everywhere but at him. "About last night?"

Why would he? No one would have given two shits, Bill included. "No."

He looked relieved and sighed, his tensed shoulders deflating into a relaxed posture. "Thanks. That's probably the most…" he trailed off, searching for a word, "semi-decent thing you've done so far."

"I could tell them," Bill offered. Since Dipper seemed to be worried about his suicide attempt getting out, he wanted to milk that for all the information he could get out of him. "I won't if you tell me what you remember about the attack. Every. Little. Detail."

He watched as Dipper shifted his weight uncomfortably again. "And now you're back to being a dick. Not surprised." The distress was gradually creeping onto his features while Dipper's hand combed through his hair, and he asked, "Is this about the attackers again? I already told you I didn't remember. I fainted and woke up to Stan and Ford, that's it."

Ah, but how could he trust him? He  _saw_  that look of recognition, and the only possible explanation was that Dipper saw him during the attack. "Did you recognize anyone?"

Bill studied his every move, this kid's body language seemed to have a habit of betraying him, and that remained true when he  _hesitated_ before shaking his head. He fucking hesitated. Bill knew there was something shady about Dipper and was determined to drag it out, he had to have seen something.

"Pine Tree," his voice had grown sharp, "don't fucking lie to me."

"I-I'm not!" Dipper protested immediately, but Bill wasn't buying it when he knew he was hiding something without a trace of a doubt. "I was just thinking about… about—" And then he looked at him with  _that_ same haunting trace of recognition.

"Tell me who you recognized," he demanded coldly, aiming to intimidate him. His hand hovered near his pocket, "Or I'll call up Stan right now and tell him all about your little suicide attempt last night. I'm sure he'll see to it that everyone knows." If the thought of Stan knowing didn't bother Dipper, the thought of  _everyone_ , including his precious sister, knowing might make him squeal.

Appearing startled by the sudden show of force, Dipper gulped and drew in a shaky breath, but he still had that stare, the one which told Bill everything he needed to know: this kid somehow knew him. "I swear I didn't see anyone, okay?" Dipper said, sounding both frightened and frustrated. There was a pause, and he continued, "Look, it's… it's just stupid. I think I've seen you before though."

Bill paused. Interesting.

He could be cool. He decided he'd play on this, see if he could get Dipper to crack. "That's probably from the paper or the television," Bill told him slowly, waiting for him to either agree or correct the statement. Unless he recognized him as an attacker… if so, Cluckin' Bell would have a new meat to add to their menu. "Otherwise, I don't think that's possible."

"I know, that's why I said it was stupid." He returned to shuffling his feet, like he was nervous. Dipper averted his gaze only to settle it on him again, concentrating — Bill didn't know whether to be glad they were perhaps making progress, or annoyed that he couldn't seem to make up his mind.

It was probably best to remind him of who he was dealing with. "I'm kind of a famous criminal here in Los Santos, and the media can't get enough of me, kid. I top most wanted lists." Mostly for murder, so he was surprised no one ever went after him for his parents, but having countless friends in an assortment of high places helped.

But then Dipper was moving closer—

He…

Stunned, Bill's mind short-circuited as he tried to make sense of what just happened.

Of all the reactions he'd been expecting to that, Dipper leaning over and.. and  _fucking sniffing him_ —he was pretty sure—wasn't one of them. What. The. Hell.

Ugh, he always knew this kid was a freak. Where did Stan find these people?

Something seemed to click in him. Bill saw the moment, down to the very millisecond where this kid's tiny brain cells apparently put it together, the sheer look of  _I know you_ reflected in the depths of his eyes _._

Instinctively, his hand moved to drift over the concealed knife, ready to end this kid right here in the place where he stood. Not ideal, but he sure as hell wasn't going to out him.

And Dipper started snickering quietly, the corners of his lips twitching up and soon it was a full blown smile, leading into stifled giggles, then chuckles, growing louder until the kid was doubled over from laughing so hard. His eyes, tears forming in them, were squeezed tightly shut as his body shook from the force of his hysterics.

In the span of a few moments, it seemed Pine Tree went from semi-normal to laughing lunatic requiring psychological help. Fucking great. Would Stan care if he killed him now?

" _You_ ," he started, trying to get the words out through his laughs, "you went to— to Vinewood University."

A burst of surprise flooded Bill, and the response was immediate, guarded. "No." He  _did_ , but he wasn't going to tell this little weirdo anything.

"Dude, stop… stop," Dipper chortled, trying to brush the tears-from-laughter away, " _lying_. I  _know_ you did because—"

"I'm not lying, you sniffing freak." No, no, no. He did not recognize him. AT ALL. No one did. That Bill was dead. He died with his sweet dogs.

"—you're  _Bill Cipher_  and," he was cut off by more of his own laughter, the smile on his face impossibly wide, "holy shit, you were the fucking  _lead in a musical_!"

Fucking. No.

This wasn't happening.

His eye twitched. "You must have me mistaken for someone else," was his icy reply, "because I don't know what you're talking about."

He seemed to be trying to take several breaths of air, refilling his lungs with oxygen that the outburst had drained from him, and soon his giggling had died down. "You  _were_ ," he insisted, still grinning wildly. "A-and, I know you were because— okay," he inhaled deeply, as if trying to work up his courage, "this is sort… of embarrassing, but I was still in high school and we—the theater crew—were helping with that production's opening and I  _kind of_ ," his voice rose, "had a crush on you and I know I didn't even talk to you but you left a set of your clothes in the dressing room one time and…  _Imayhavesniffedthem_." Dipper had gotten all of that out in one breath, a big rambling sentence, and he was red by the time he'd finished.

At least it explained why he'd taken a whiff of him a minute ago.

"Why are you such a fucking  _freak_?" Bill didn't want to admit Dipper had correctly identified him. He knew what Dipper was referring to, vividly could recall which production it was, as well; he remembered since he hadn't cared for the wealthy, snobby brats that'd arrived from Richman High School to assist in its opening week. "I can't fucking believe you had the hots for me, kid."

" _Hey_ ," he protested, bashful but simultaneously annoyed, "I was like, a freshman in  _high school_! A dumb fourteen-year-old. It was just a stupid crush thing, it's not like we ever talked."

There was probably a reason they never talked if Dipper sniffed his clothes. "Don't you need to shop?" he asked, trying to veer the subject back to what they'd been doing before.

"Yeah," Dipper replied. Bill didn't care for how that ridiculously goofy, knowing smile was still on his face. He wanted to punch it off. Stab him in his throat. Shoot him in his mouth fifty times. Clearly this kid didn't realize what a threat Bill could be. "Guess I'll see you later?"

"Nah, I'll go with you. A twink like you won't survive alone here, and besides, you should be elated. Your  _crush_  going with you on a shopping spree." Wasn't like he could retract the knowledge from him since the damage was already done. However, he was going to have fun with this and make the best of a shitty situation. Why did he have to know him from  _that_?

"As if," Dipper snapped, the smile disappearing. "I can assure you that crush is long gone."

Dipper could claim that as much as he liked, whatever helped the kid sleep at night, but it wouldn't stop Bill from tormenting him relentlessly. "Sure, if you say so."

"I'm not crushing on you!" he protested, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You aren't nearly attractive enough to be such a dickwad."

By now, they were outside Cluckin' Bell and heading down the hallway toward a popular clothing store. "Cutie," Bill said, "you're not nearly attractive enough to be a little bitch. Now, are we shopping, or are you going to continue to whine about how you'll never look as fabulous as I do?"

Some memory seemed to flicker in Dipper's eyes. "Is your closet full of nothing but black and yellow suits?"

"Why, you interested in them?" They had stepped into the store, Bill's gaze sweeping over the options. Nothing looked as good as his clothes, it wasn't even a close competition.

Dipper moved to examine various shirts on display, feeling the fabric and checking price tags. "That's all I've seen you wear so far."

Bill didn't understand why he was bothering to ask. "I guess I can't be as unattractive as you tried to claim if you've been admiring my outfits."

" _Outfits_ ," he repeated in amusement. As Dipper turned away from the clothing to face him, he noticed he was biting his lip, probably holding back a laugh. "Just because I like your clothes doesn't mean I like you." He leaned forward, poking him near his collarbone. "Your bowties are nice, though."

His expression morphed into something similar to a scowl. "Don't mess with my bowties unless you want to lose some fingers." Following that, he brightened up. "Come on, cutie. First you like my clothes, then you start eyeing up my dick, then you think 'I'd like it if that hot Bill guy fucked me.'"

He frowned and said, "I already told you I was over that!"

Bill exploded in laughter. "Yeah, until you take a little look at what you're missing out on and want it." He hardly cared if Dipper still had a crush on him or not, he just liked to watch him squirm from the teasing.

"Your ego could be seen from space, dude."

He was tempted to point out that it wasn't egotistical if he was right, but before he could, Dipper spun on his heels and started walking away to another section of shirts, the racks filled with plaid patterned fabrics. Quite similar to what he was wearing now, but in a variety of colors.

"Christ, it's like the only pattern of shirts you know is plaid." Did Dipper  _want_  to be a shitty male version of Wendy?

Dipper glanced over his shoulder briefly to snark, "Ironic, coming from a walking advertisement for that Wiz Khalifa song. ' _Black and yellow, black and yellow, black and yellow, black and yellow_.'"

While he  _did_ want to beat the snot out of this kid, the mocking mantra was amusing, and he smiled crookedly. "At least this advertisement has class. You look like a lumberjack reject because you weren't manly enough."

That appeared to hit a nerve in how he quickly defended himself with a, "Hey, I'm manly!" Yeah, the voice crack added that extra dose of convincing. It was faint, but he saw a smile on the kid's lips. "Have you seen the Monty Python skit? I'm that kind of lumberjack."

"No wonder they rejected you. That's pretty fucking gay." What, was he going to cross-dress too?

Dipper was lucky he hadn't had to live with his parents, they would've beaten the shit out of him for even suggesting the slightest femininity as they had with Bill — except, it hadn't been feminine in his case. It'd just been an interest in musical productions, but their backlash had been insane.

Dipper ignored him while he thumbed through the different plaid shirt options, and Bill swore he could hear the kid humming the song under his breath as he did so, hips swaying back and forth lightly. Bill's fingers twitched against his slacks, finding it difficult to resist the desire of smacking him in his tiny ass. Oblivious, Dipper pulled a few from the rack and held them up, examining the items and setting them aside before continuing his search.

"What, you lookin' for the holy grail of shirts?" The reference made Dipper smile, but it faded after sparing him a brief, owlish stare, as if surprised it'd come from Bill. Yes, he was a world class assassin, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a sense of humor. Messing with Dipper was the only decent part of this excursion because god damn, they were going to be here all day at this rate. "It's just fucking clothes. Pick some already."

"Oh, but I have to look good for my  _crush_ , don't I?" he replied flatly, the sarcasm evident. He seemed irritated that he'd been called out on taking forever, but went back to analyzing every single stupid thread of the clothes. "You didn't have to come with me, y'know."

"It doesn't take two hours to find clothes that look good, kid. You're just being a slug." Whether or not Bill had come with him didn't matter. "I would be forced to wait on your slow-ass forever anyway." Maybe he should have gone with Mabel. At least she was lively. Being with Dipper was like being with a zombie.

Briefly, he was reminded of the ring in his pocket. Earlier, when Dipper had been showering, Mabel and him had hatched a scheme to fake propose to Dipper after Dipper decided Bill had to  _court_  him. So his plan was to do it in public, with a crowd gathered around them to put the pressure on Dipper to say yes. What better place than Rockford Plaza? Making a scene wouldn't be difficult. Since the kid had outright  _demanded_ to be courted, Bill thought the entire idea was brilliant in a convoluted way, and he wanted to see Pine Tree put on the spot, to  _squirm_  from the crowd's pressure to accept an engagement from someone he genuinely loathed with every inch of his being.

Dipper finally settled on blue, green, and gray variations of the plaid pattern, hooking them over one of his noodle arms. "Be honest," he raised an eyebrow, "you would've passed the time hanging out in Hot Topic and scaring kids like the creep you are."

Bill shrugged. "I'm more of a Spencer's guy. You wanna swing by one? They have some hilarious cards." He paused after a moment. "Assuming they don't kick you out for looking like you're twelve." But on the other hand, that'd be entertaining to watch.

"Nah, I'd have an adult with me." Dipper was on the move again, heading to another section of the store while Bill was in tow, dragging his feet — he hoped it was clear that he didn't want to be here. "And I use that term loosely."

If Bill didn't find the kid so intriguing, he would've shot him for that. "Kid, you don't even know what 'loose' is."

He didn't turn to look at him, but he did stop, giving Bill an opportunity to catch up. It didn't take long since his strides were significantly longer than Dipper's, a benefit of being taller. "Wait, are you calling me a virgin?"

"I'm not wrong. You even have the Virgin Walk about ya."

Not looking too happy about that, Dipper elbowed him in the ribs and Bill grunted softly. Why the fuck did he have to be the perfect height for causing him physical pain? The little fucker. Short people could suck his dick.

"I do not walk like a virgin," Dipper muttered, just barely audibly. He took a sharp turn, veering to the men's pants section, and paused near the skinny jeans. "These should fit…" Bill could hear him think aloud as he plucked pairs from their hooks, the chosen ones joining his stack of plaid shirts.

Laughing, Bill joined him by the skinny jeans. "Even Mabel doesn't have the virgin walk like you do, kid."

Appearing surprised by the comment, Dipper's breath hitched and he froze for a second, leading Bill to believe that perhaps he'd uncovered something of a sore spot buried him — he seemed to be on a roll today. And after several long seconds of contemplation, he darkly said, "Well, she's n-not..."

"Then I guess that means you're a virgin!" His voice has rose, amusement lacing each word. It was likely anyone in their vicinity could hear him.

Dipper went red and made a panicked shushing motion with his hands. "M-m..aybe?" his voice had raised an octave. Oh yes, he'd found the virgin and it was nothing short of glorious.

If Dipper was too embarrassed about being a virgin, Bill could fix that. "That's a 'yes', Pine Tree. Y'know, if you didn't want to be a virgin, I can assist you in that." Wanting to see his reaction more than anything, he playfully reached to slap his ass.

Bill was amused by how he instantly squeaked in surprise and his body tensed under the touch. Still, the kid whirled around a second later to huff, "I'd rather shove a cactus up there. It'd probably be more enjoyable."

"That doesn't fix your virgin problem, cutie. Also, you can have fun getting those spines out of your anus. How bloody."

"It's not a  _problem_ , and can we stop talking about it?" His eyes shifted around the store, as if concerned the other patrons were listening in on their conversation. Yeah right, like they couldn't tell he was a virgin at a glance without even hearing a snippet of their chat. "What happened to wanting to hurry this along?"

A snicker escaped him. "Sounds like it's a problem, given how badly you want to move on from it." With how insistent Dipper was of taking forever, he had lost interest in trying to usher him along. This was more amusing.

Dipper looked beyond frustrated, sputtering at him, and he internally noted how fun it was watching this kid's face go new shades of red. He was really starting to enjoy that, how easily embarrassed he was, and making him at least useful for  _something_ even if that something happened to be his own entertainment.

Oh, if only Dipper knew what was about to befall him. The public proposal, although fake, would be glorious if it went as planned.

In a flash, his thoughts were interrupted by Dipper's hand shooting out toward him followed by a brief pressure below his neck, and the hand retracted only to have his undone bowtie in the open palm.

Forget proposing, he could fucking  **murder** this kid.

He had a pistol and a knife on him, and they were both aching to spill Dipper's blood everywhere for that.

Okay, fine. A deep, controlled breath later, Bill was forcing himself to  _relax_. If he wanted to play like that, they could play. Not missing a beat, Bill snatched the bowtie from Dipper's hand and quickly proceeded to retie it in the kid's hair, despite his heated protests and attempts to escape. He'd been deliberate in where he placed it, wrapping the bowtie in the fluffy wave of hair that usually hid his birthmark. "Enjoy looking like a pretty princess, you little shit." Bill watched as Dipper's hand fiddled with the fabric, obviously trying to free it from his brown locks. "If you mess with it, I'll shove a knife so deep in your sternum the paramedics won't be able to pull it out even when you're dead."

That was enough to cause Dipper to hesitate, his movements stuttering. He glanced to a mirror stationed a few feet away, his expression falling flat as his arms folded over his chest in annoyance, noticing the bowtie and the birthmark it revealed to the world. "You're a jackass."

Bill was still angry about the bowtie and didn't plan on having Dipper remove it until much later. Assuming he behaved. "You're a piece of shit, now get over yourself and finish playing dress up, lumberjack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider dropping us a comment and/or kudos, we really appreciate it <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: brief crossdressing, mentions of internalized homophobia, and part two of shopping shenanigans with the dorks.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Piqued Penguin, Vizaly, SomethingIsUp, and La_Papillon, thank you so much for your amazing comments. <3

They'd finished shopping for his clothes and had made their way over to a mobile store. It took only a few minutes to purchase and set up Dipper's new phone, with a brief reminder its primary purpose was to be a burner.

As they had departed, Dipper became distracted by a nearby fish tank and started spouting facts about aquatic life, much to Bill's annoyance because it wasn't as if those stupid ass fish did anything except swim around and be useless, the latter a similarity between them and Dipper. Maybe Dipper did look cute with the way his widened eyes watched the fish in fascinated interest, but it wasn't worth standing around gawking at someone's dinner, so he'd made a point of grabbing Dipper by his collar and pulling him away. They weren't done shopping yet, and besides, dogs were the superior companion.

Their final stop was the shoe store, at last. He couldn't wait to be done with this shopping and back in the penthouse — he had things to do with his day, he couldn't spend the whole time walking around with this little brat since he was slower than a snail when it came to picking out clothes. He didn't know why it took him so long when everything was either plaid or jeans, it should've been easy to snatch up what he wanted.

On the brightside, the bowtie in his hair was a continuous source of amusement, and he knew Dipper hated him a bit more every time he stole a glance at it, or every time he made a teasing comment about the kid still having a crush on him. That was pretty fun.

Currently, Dipper was slipping off one of his shoes to try on a mate from the new pair he'd selected for his seemingly endless trials of different colored Chuck Taylors (Christ, he had no class), and… huh. His feet were about as big as a toddler's. "What are you, a size three?"

Prepared to either dodge or catch his attack, Bill watched him carefully since Dipper had  _that look_ , the one which likely preceded being kicked in the face. Maybe kneeling near him while he did this wasn't the best idea. "Eight," he corrected as if the mere thought was absurd, wriggling on the new shoe to see if it fit comfortably.

"Your toes look like they belong to an infant," he commented.

Dipper glanced at him blankly before going back to arranging the shoe. "I'm starting to think you have a weird obsession with babies."

He didn't care one way or the other for tiny humans, and Bill shook his head. "Nah, I just can't help but see a lot of similarities when it comes to you, sweetcheeks."

"Aaand now it's concerning because you've propositioned me for sex." Dipper rose to his feet, pacing a small area to test out the shoe. "Multiple times." As he walked, he was careful to dodge the bags of purchased clothes surrounding them, the same bags that he'd outright demanded Bill carry for him while they shopped, and he wasn't sure how he'd gotten swindled into that but he'd been essentially a clothing rack at the kid's whim.

"Aren't you nineteen, or did you lie about your age because you're insecure about being a virgin?" Bill wasn't interested in him because he had the soft skin and feet size of small children, he was interested in him because he was  _interesting_ whereas most of his daily interactions with the other people in his life were downright boring. So predictable, so dull. Dipper was always surprising him. The clothes-sniffing couldn't have been more of a shock, and he internally noted he'd have to add some jokes about that into the teasing as well.

All that aside, he wouldn't touch him if he was underaged. He was glad he wasn't, lest the plan of proposing to him would be ruined like Dipper's dignity frequently was.

There was a furious squawk. "Look, man, if we're ever in that situation, just… I.D. me or something."

"I guess you better pull out your I.D. right now, kid."

"No way. You are  _not_ fucking me in a shoe store."

But he was going to be proposed to in a mall, not that he had any idea. Shrugging, he replied, "The bathrooms have private stalls, cutie."

"Gross, no," he made a face as he sat back down, sticking his tongue out at him momentarily, "and I don't  _want_ to do anything with you. I didn't even want to shop with you, but you apparently just had to come along."

If Bill could, he would have grabbed his ass to get another squeak out of him. "Would you rather I be alone with your impressionable sister?"

Dipper's eyes flashed with protectiveness. "Stay away from Mabel. I still haven't forgiven you for making her cry earlier."

He'd already forgotten about that, probably because he didn't give two shits. "She'd forgive me pretty easily, considering–" he stopped speaking when a stranger approached them, intent on finding out what she could want.

She was an older woman, with poofy white hair and a hefty amount of weight. She wore a dark purple jacket with a lighter purple shirt beneath, accompanied with dark gray pants. Bill was...  _concerned_ about her size: what did she eat, her children? "Oh, my!" She exclaimed. "Aren't you two the cutest things? You remind me of my honey and I when we were younger."

Dipper looked like a deer in the headlights and started to hyperventilate as if entirely appalled by the idea of someone thinking they were a couple. "A-actually, we're… we're not—"

"Of course we are," Bill took the opportunity to throw his arm around Dipper's small frame in mock affection, feeling his muscles stiffen with discomfort but he knew he wasn't hurting him. "My  _sugar_  here is a little shy of being openly together, but we're quite happy, aren't we, cutie?"

Through a narrowed gaze, Dipper was shooting daggers at him and his mortified expression was nothing short of legendary, meanwhile Bill was relishing in every second of it. He looked too stunned to speak, so delightfully red in the face once again, and he was left thinking they had to do this more often if these were the reactions he could squeeze from the kid. Although his eyes suggested he was going to try to punch him with those weak little arms later, Dipper's lips pursed and he replied, "Well, I'd be happier if I hadn't caught him pawing around in the women's underwear section earlier."

Smoothly, Bill rolled with it, "Sweetie, that was going to be a gift to you for our anniversary. We both know how much you like to crossdress." To accentuate his point, he used his free hand to affectionately poke the bowtie in his hair.

It was funny. Dipper even knew his history with theater and made the dumb mistake of thinking Bill couldn't work with anything on the spot. Oh, how wrong this Sapling was to mess with the classiest liar around.

Needless to say, the wide smile on the woman's face had vanished, and she was quick to excuse herself and speed-walk away. Crossdressers did that to people, Bill mused to himself. Shame on Dipper.

With her gone, Bill withdrew from Dipper and got to his feet because after that incident, they were both ready to leave the store. Heading back to the food court after purchasing the shoes. Dipper seemed over two hundred percent done and hardly uttered a word to him the entire time as he made a point of avoiding eye contact, probably because Bill played the 'dating' card. What a little baby.

Bill found them a seat back in Cluckin' Bell and had purchased a couple drinks while they waited for Mabel's return. Knowing her, she probably bought the whole mall. "You gonna talk, Pine Tree, or are you going to keep pouting because now some old woman thinks we're dating and you crossdress?"

"You went along with it!" he accused, leaning away from him. "I hope Mabel gets back soon and we can go." The way he said it definitely implied it was to get a break from him, not from shopping.

Bill smirked. "Weren't you the one that brought up the lady's underwear? It's your fault she thinks you're a freak now. She thought it was  _adorable_ before."

The trace of irritation on the kid's face wasn't lost to his keen observation, but Dipper shrugged and said, "All I did was make an educated guess about what you were doing while I was trying on clothes."

"If I wanted to look at panties," he snickered slyly, "I'd pull down those jeans of yours."

Dipper was positively seething but made no comment, burying his face in his hands to mumble incoherently about how terrible he was. Or something along those lines probably because Bill couldn't hear him well enough to discern what it was.

It was entertaining how he didn't make any attempt to deny he wore panties. "Cutie, hiding your face won't change the fact you rock women's undies."

He didn't uncover his face but did give a muffled, "I don't!"

"Sure you do. Have more confidence in yourself."

" _No_ , I mean I don't wear them!"

Bill couldn't contain a laugh, no matter how hard he tried. "What else would you wear? You're so girly, I don't think any cashier in their right mind would sell you boxers."

"You seem to be trying really hard to convince yourself that I wear lacy underwear."

Bill hummed in thought, "I bet it's a pink thong."

Finally dropping his hands to the table, Dipper wrinkled his nose. "Stop fantasizing about me."

How could he not? "You make it so easy with that tiny ass of yours. Wonderfully tight, I imagine."

Flushing, he looked away and his gaze settled on something in the distance, seemingly desperate in his attempt not to make any form of eye contact with him. "It's ironic you keep teasing  _me_ about having a crush."

"I'm just playin', cutie. Unlike you, I don't sniff clothes or get attached." Emotional attachment wasn't one of Bill's strong suits, and he was fine with that — his line of work didn't promote a particularly loving attitude.

"I was  _fourteen_ ," Dipper stressed, the familiar protest making a return. Yes, yes, he knew he used to be (and still was) a creepy little bastard, didn't need to tell him twice, but they had more important things to do.

"Hey sugar, I got a question for ya."

"What? What could you  _possibly_ want?"

Go time. He couldn't wait to mortify Dipper.

Bill pushed himself away from the table, dropping to one knee as he whipped out a tiny black box and opened it, revealing a golden ring studded with blood-red rubies and, likely unknown to Dipper, the gem was one of the planetary stones for Scorpios. A personal favorite of his. While it wasn't a engagement ring by any means considering he had it customized for himself years ago, Dipper still looked horrified by what was unfolding before him, completely frozen and uncertain of what he should do. Perfect.

That alone met his expectations for the reaction he'd been aiming to receive, but he wanted to push this further, see just how far it could go.

"My dear," he said with a completely sincere expression, a mass of people beginning to notice the interaction and gather around. "I know things between us haven't always been stellar, but I want you to know my love for you is like an eternal flame that cannot be snuffed out by the struggles we have faced. I love you, and I wish to be by your side until the end of our days. Will you give yourself the honor of marrying me?" He guessed his speech had garnered some attention since the crowd awwed, and Bill distantly thought he could hear the sound of screeching. Was a cat being tortured?

With a hint of pride, he decided this was probably his most brilliant performance yet judging by the lack of color on Dipper's face as he stood there, dumbly stunned. He looked perplexed beyond belief, as if still trying to stitch together what was even going on.

He'd said he wanted to be courted. What was more fitting than being courted via a fake proposal in a food court?

As quickly as he'd paled, his cheeks were adopting a bright red hue and he was blinking like he couldn't believe it was real. And quite frankly, it wasn't real, but this was still the most fun he'd had in a while. Dipper's startled reactions were to die for and the crowd was lapping it up, encouraging him to accept.

From horror to embarrassment to panic, he seemed to settle on a primary emotion: fury. Bill caught the way Dipper very obviously mouthed 'FUCK YOU' to him, and he found himself struggling to keep a straight face. Stars, it was great to discover fresh methods of pissing the kid off.

The screeching was getting closer, and at a glance he could see Mabel making an excited beeline for Dipper. She had dropped her bags of merchandise in the process, throwing her arms around her brother and nearly knocking him over in the process as she squealed. "OMYGOSH YOU'RE GETTING ENGAGED?! DIPPER, YOU HAVE TO SAY YES! IT'S SO CUTE!"

Christ, she gave him a headache sometimes. "Oh sugar, you're so choked up you can't even speak!" He blew a kiss toward him, much to the crowd's delight. Dipper's face twisted in anger. "So will you?" he prompted Dipper again with a predatory smirk plastered on his face, curious to see if he would reject him between the pressure of the crowd and Mabel both desiring him to say yes.

He looked like he was fighting an internal battle as his eyes shifted around the food court, undoubtedly seeing the attention they'd drawn to them. Stan would be mad that he caused a scene in a public place for no monetary reward, but oh well, this was worth it. Dipper shifted uncomfortably, every second seemingly making this worse for him while the crowd's encouragements became louder. "Fine," he mumbled so damn defeatedly, gaze dropping. "Yes."

Bill's eyebrows shot up.

He actually agreed? The kid had less balls than he thought. Bill was expecting more resistance from Dipper. "You've just made me the happiest man in the world!" he exclaimed for the crowd's entertainment, slipping the ring onto Dipper's finger and snaking his arm around Dipper's waist as he stood to press a kiss to his lips. At least it would've been if not for Dipper turning his head at the last moment to avoid him, forcing him to plant a smooch on his cheek instead as Dipper visibly grimaced.

After collecting their stuff and the crowd dispersed, they headed back to Bill's vehicle and dumped the bags of clothes and other accessories into the trunk. Dipper was still pouting but that was no surprise, Mabel was more excited than he'd ever seen over her brother's fake engagement, and Bill was finding enjoyment in how Dipper REFUSED to even look at him. He gave the silent treatment a whole new level of dedication.

"I thought you'd be happy," Bill teased him. "Being engaged to your  _crush_."

Dipper's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yeah, your performance back there was even better than how you did in—"

He sensed where this was going and immediately cut him off, "The one with that lady? Yeah, she really bought us dating and you crossdressing."

No.

He wasn't going there. He was not going to fucking out him for being in a musical  _years_ ago, but honestly, Bill should've stuck with acting. He liked to think he would've made it big.

"You crossdress still?" Mabel asked. "I thought that went away after mom caught you in my clothes!"

Bill snorted. Oh, he should have known, should've seen this coming.

As if he wasn't sure he'd heard, Dipper stole a quick glance at him only to be met with the telltale smirk, and he sighed. "I don't crossdress. Bill just put his bowtie in my hair because he's a sadistic asshole."

Mabel giggled. "He's yours now! You should be ecstatic! It's not like you ever got numbers or dates with anyone before this, but your luck is turning around finally!"

Dipper facepalmed and looked like he wanted to disappear into thin air, not that Bill could blame him. "Mabel, please,  _please_ stop talking."

She didn't, instead continuing to ramble. "Oh! Today I met the prettiest girl, her name's Pacifica and I got her number–something you couldn't do, Dipper, even though you're bisexual and should have twice the dating options–and I'm going to call her on my new phone when I get home!"

The inadvertent roasting of Dipper's love life had him holding back snickers. Great Cosmos, the kid was hopeless, but he did have one thing going for him and it was the sole reason he wasn't lying in his own blood with a knife in his chest: he was entertaining.

"Hey cutie, it's okay." Bill spoke as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. "You don't need to get numbers anymore, you're engaged now. Brighten up."

"Pretty sure I'll be needing numbers for a divorce lawyer."

* * *

The drive to the penthouse was going smoothly… until his phone started going off. Repeatedly. And he wanted to groan his vocal cords off whenever he saw Robbie's name flashing on the screen, which alone justified ending the call as soon as it came in every time, but it was starting to get annoying since he wasn't taking the hint and giving up.

Throwing his damn phone out the window was becoming a tempting option, considering how much of a bitch it was to end the call over and over while he was  _trying to drive_ and weave through the Los Santos evening traffic. Whenever he reached to kill it, making a point of whacking away Dipper's hand when he tried to help, the car would swerve dangerously close to oncoming vehicles.

"Just let me do it!" Dipper would protest. "Do you want me to send a text or something? This might be important and you shouldn't be messing with it while you're driving." They weren't even fake married yet and he was already starting to sound like a nagging wife.

"Do you want me to pull over and ask for directions too?" Bill mocked. "Don't touch my phone, Pine Tree." Dipper didn't need to see his conversation with Robbie. Or know about Robbie. Or fuck with his phone.

On the tenth attempt, he was beginning to cave solely to make it stop because he couldn't handle it anymore. Somebody better be dying, or Robbie would be in for a world of hurt with how much of a pest he'd been tonight. To Dipper, he said, "Just keep looking pretty in that bow, sugar. I gotta take this."

Ignoring the irritated honking of the drivers around him, he veered the car off the road, slamming on the brakes as it slowed to a stop on the shoulder. "Stay in here," he instructed them as he turned up the radio and exited the vehicle with his phone.

Taking a seat on the hood, Bill accepted the call, putting it to his ear with an angry: "What the fuck do you want?"

"What's the deal? Like, you've been ignoring my calls." He'd forgotten how god damn whiny Robbie could be sometimes.

"You're starting to sound like a fucking attention whore. Doll, I know you still have feelings for me, but spamming my phone while I'm trying to drive isn't exactly how to win me back." If this was all he wanted to talk about, Bill was ready to hang up, chuck his phone in a ditch, and enjoy the pop music with the twinsies instead.

There was a scoff on the other side of the line. "Cut it out, I act nothing like that." Classic Robbie, jumping right into the huffy emotional pouting. If Bill had known sleeping with the guy would turn him into such a needy freak, he would've passed. "This is about Lee. We gotta talk."

Lee was dead. There was nothing to talk about with that. "I got better things to do than talk about a dead kid, Stitched Heart."

"Dude, this is serious business! Meet me at Singleton's."

"Nah, I have important things to do." He didn't want to waste his time with the edgelord when he had to go back to the penthouse.

"Yeah? Like what?" Robbie prompted.

A pause. Why the hell did he give two shits? Bill stole a glance over his shoulder at his passengers, Mabel looking completely distracted and Dipper staring at him impatiently. His eyes flicked back to Mabel. "I got a girl back in my car. She's a better lay than you ever were." Hang up, Robbie. Do it. He wanted out of their stupid meeting and was willing to say anything to make that happen.

"Not cool," he could basically hear him bristling on the other side of the line. "Bring her with then, I don't give a shit."

"I'd rather not." His gaze moved to Dipper. "Did I say 'girl?' She's actually a crossdressing boy." Maybe that would be enough to get him to back off.

He heard a semi-puzzled "what the hell?" but Robbie moved on quickly, stating, "Whatever. You probably aren't getting any and just made that other stuff up, so get over here."

He wasn't getting any? "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals—"

"Are you seriously reciting that stupid meme again?"

"When was the last time you got any, Valentino?" Bill challenged. "When you were begging for my cock like the little whore you are?"

"Fuck you, I-I've been busy!" was the defensive response, and although Robbie couldn't see it, Bill was rolling his eyes. Busy his triangles! "Get over here, man. Singleton's."

Bill was ready to kick his sorry excuse for an ass. "I'll go, cockwipe, but it better be worth my time."

"Yeah, yeah, see you in a bit, asshole." The line went silent.

Now all he needed was to get Dipper to play dressup. "Hey Shooting Star," Bill said as he got back in the car, turning down the volume. "I don't suppose you bought a dress today?" Despite speaking to Mabel, his eyes were on Dipper who was returning his gaze, suspiciously.

"I did!" Mabel's response was excited, as always. "What do you need it for?"

"Well, I'm in need of a crossdressing man, and I thought Pine Tree would fit the bill nicely."

Startled, Dipper shook his head. "What the hell? No! I'm not doing that."

Yes he was. Didn't have a choice. Robbie was expecting a crossdresser, he was getting one. "You already look so pretty in that bow, Pine Tree. Where's the harm in a dress?"

"I didn't  _want_ to be in the bow," he hotly reminded him. "You put it on me and said you'd kill me if I took it off. I'm not wearing a dress for you."

Mabel was trying to mess with the folding rear seat in an attempt to get to the trunk. "You'd look so beautiful in a dress, Dipper! ...Or should I say,  _Dipperella_!" Dipperella? He kinda liked that, but it was painfully clear Dipper did not. Maybe Dipper wasn't ready to admit his status as a Disney princess.

"Cutie, you're making me want to stab you in your pretty little sternum for not wearing a dress."

"Nope, I'm not doing it." His arms folded stubbornly. "You haven't even explained why. Please tell me you're not looking for spank bank material."

He wasn't Robbie. "No, I have a meeting and they're expecting me to bring a crossdressing date. Enter: you."

" _Why_ would they expect that? Do you normally bring a crossdressing date to your meetings or something?"

"It may have come up on the call. What do ya say, cutie? We're already engaged."

Dipper's shoulders tensed, and his face scrunched in anger. "Did you say we were dating?! To some… some stranger?"

If it helped, he didn't  _want_  to; he'd intended on getting out of the meeting by making that up, not bringing Dipper to it. "Not a stranger to me, sugar." He ignored Dipper's whine of 'not helping.' "Also, my hand was forced. Apparently it's  _important_  I go and it can't wait."

Dipper seemed like he wanted to suggest taking Mabel instead as he watched her dig through the shopping bags she'd retrieved from the trunk, but bit his tongue and turned his attention to Bill. "Sounds like you backed yourself into a corner. Smooth." Dipper exhaled and flopped against the passenger seat, looking thoughtful, "You've been a jerk to me the whole day. So I'm sure you can get why I'm not really feeling the whole crossdressing date thing."

"Would you rather me take your sister?" Bill's voice had grown cold. The displeasure written across Dipper's face became darker.

Mabel grinned. "I think Dipper might fit the mark better. Also, he'd be great in a dress as um… a crosser." She seemed confused by the term 'crossdresser,' but Bill wasn't going to be the one to correct her.

"Good point, Shooting Star. So, what do ya say Pine Tree? I could take your sister and potentially risk her life, or you could go instead."

It was so easy to manipulate him if he threatened Mabel's safety. "Okay," he said tensely, voice rigid. Dipper had a hollow expression, one that spoke volumes to his defeat and frustration. "Can it at least be a skirt?"

Success. He knew he'd break the kid into submission. "Sure, cutie."

Soon, they were outside the bar, and the Singleton's neon sign flickered annoyingly in the corner of his vision as he stared at the now-in-a-skirt and looking quite embarrassed Dipper, who could hardly meet his eyes. Mabel had been busy snapping pictures of him with her new phone on the drive over as she talked proudly about using it for blackmail, and to be frank, it was hard to fight the urge to do the same.

"Stay here," Bill told Mabel as he moved to exit his vehicle. "Keep your head down and don't bring attention to yourself. Dipper, before we go in we need to talk." Alone, since Mabel didn't need to hear. It was bad enough that he'd have to include Dipper in this stupid meeting, which he didn't want to be at in the first place.

Dipper took that cue as his turn to leave the vehicle as well, and Bill saw him trailing after as they neared the doors of the nightclub, the noise from inside barely audible in the evening air.

Beckoning him over, Bill stepped away from the path to the entrance to give them a little more privacy. "Look, there's a few things we gotta go over. One: anything we discuss in the meeting, you don't talk about ever again. It never happened. You got that, Pine Tree?" He watched Dipper nod hesitantly, and continued. "The second thing is this discussion will be about Lee, so don't break down in tears when Stitches is talking about how dead he is. He's another member of the Owls but he's more of like… the F team of us." A lie considering Robbie couldn't have been further from a member of the Owls of Anarchy — Dipper didn't need to know Robbie was a leader of the Ravagers. "You probably will never see him again." Hopefully.

"Lastly, stop being so tense around me. It screams 'shitty actor.'" Dipper had the tiniest of smirks planted on his dumb little face, probably fantasizing about sniffing his clothes again. If he was still giggling over Bill's time as an actor, his humor must be real shitty. It was like he was bringing a two year old to the meeting with Robbie. ... Maybe, just maybe, Dipper being a witness to his past was a sore spot for Bill. "Relax, pretend to be having a good time, and you can go back to hating me when we're done."

He shifted his weight nervously, tugging on the ends of the skirt as if that would help cover more of his twig legs. It wasn't particularly short and went past his knees, so he didn't know what he was fussing about. "That last one is asking quite a bit."

It wasn't if Dipper valued his life. "Can you handle it, Pine Tree, or are you gonna crumble under pressure like a piece of paper?"

"Dispensing threats at me doesn't help me relax around you," Dipper grumbled. "You could pretend to be decent for once, and you can go back to being an asshole when we're done." He was almost certain Dipper was mocking him with that, but gave it a pass since they didn't have time for squabbling.

"Sugar, I'm not  _threatening_  you. I'm trying to keep you from being eaten alive in there. If you're half-assing this, they'll rip you to shreds and I'll have to tell Mabel she lost the only family member she had left to a woodchipper."

"Fine," Dipper sighed, "but you'll have to make this believable too, y'know."

Bill chuckled softly. "Sweetie, I have that handled. Now, on a final note take this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold-colored handkerchief. "If you get too uncomfortable and need to leave, slip this back to me and I'll get us out. I don't want you saying anything to bring attention to yourself, you got that, Pine Tree?"

The kid took his handkerchief in silence, giving him only another short nod in response. Good. He was learning to keep his mouth shut. With that finished, Bill moved to the entrance of the building and stepped inside.

Immediately, they were met by the blare of music and a huge, darkened room. Of what little illumination there was, it came from the multi-colored stage lights that danced around the room, casting them in various shades of blue, red, yellow, and purple, shifting every other second with the beat of the music. Most of the building was crowded, filled with people dancing… or attempting to, as they stumbled around in a drunken stupor. Bill made a face at the human wreckage and was glad Robbie frequented the place enough to secure a private room, which he quickly proceeded to. Said room consisted of a small booth, secluded and quiet since it was away from the excitement of the nightclub and bar, and Bill ducked inside with Dipper in tow. In the low light he could see that Robbie was slouched over the table, fingers rapidly typing on his phone. "Ah, it's like Tambry never left."

"Took you long enough," Robbie grumped, his perpetually-bored face supported by the arm resting on the table as he stared at the two. "Did you get in a quickie, or what was keeping you?" He asked, eyes scanning over Bill and then his supposed date. "Christ, where do you find these?"

"The strip is surprisingly fruitful." Bill was glad Robbie was too stupid to recognize Dipper in his minimal disguise. Even if someone told him who Pine Tree was, Bill was sure it wouldn't click in his pea-sized brain for an hour. For fuck's sake, he didn't do his research to find out if the mayor and senator had children before they attacked, and Robbie only found out hours afterward. He wasn't sure how he managed to stay in charge of a gang.

Robbie's eyes shifted briefly to the decorated dancing pole stationed in the room. "Um, does… he— she, whatever, do private shows?"

"She'll do whatever  _you_  want for a price." A smirk was plastered over Bill's face. He couldn't help it.

Dipper looked panicked at that, and he gave series of gentle nudges to his side… huh. That was probably the least violent elbowing he'd ever gotten, what a shocker from this little demon child.

"So, uh… yeah, how much? While we talk business, least we can have a show."

"Nothing you could afford, doll. She's premium off the clock and the sad excuses of what you pull in for a living won't cover it." He sat down across from him, motioning for Dipper to join him in the booth.

"Psh, whatever, man. I could afford that whore of yours." His tone became defensive, and he glanced away. "I just don't  _want_ to, alright? Lay off."

"You were singing a different tune when you thought she was a cheap lay."

Robbie didn't seem pleased. "Looks like one."

"You must be looking in a mirror, doll. My Ma—" fuck, couldn't exactly use Mason, "..Macy has the finest ass in the state of San Andreas."

A discontented noise fell from Robbie. "Let's get to it, I don't have all night." Bill wasn't so sure about that, he seemed to be more than ready to shoot the shit over his fake date. "Lee's dead, cops are after us and want to start an investigation. What are you going to do about that, Cipher?"

"Watch you flounder around like a dying clown fish." What else was he going to do? It wasn't like he cared too much if the Ravagers were taken out by some cops because they were too stupid to weasel their own way out of their mess.

Robbie muttered, "About the police, idiot."

"The simple solution is 'kill them', Stitches."

"Thought you said you had connections that could take care of it," he growled. "Dead cops just draw in more attention."

Where was in fun in that? Robbie's inclination to play it safe was as drab as he looked. "I do," Bill said. "But that doesn't mean we can't slaughter some pigs before." Dipper visibly tensed beside him, and he could see the kid struggling to keep his cool.

Luckily, Robbie didn't seem to notice and tapped impatiently at the table. "Do it on your own time, I don't care. Just don't bring that shitstorm around here."

Oh, but bringing it to them would be so  _easy_. The cops would love to jump at the opportunity of going after the Ravagers for any little thing. He didn't care how it affected the others– it wouldn't touch him, he'd make sure of that. "What else did you want, Stacey?"

Bill relished in the way his expression fell angrily, but it wasn't like he could make a scene over it. On top of that, it  _was_ a part of his name, and there was no denying it. "You still have that picture, right?" there was a hint of implication in his voice. "See if you can plant it on somebody else, get their attention away."

As Robbie spoke, Bill wrapped his arm around Dipper and pulled him close, using his available hand to delicately lift his fake date's, not-so-subtly showing off the ruby studded gold ring to Robbie. There was a knowing grin on Bill's face, carefully watching Robbie's reaction, as he planted a kiss on the back of his hand. Dipper seemed to be trying to tune out of what was happening. He was sure it would bother Robbie and if he could piss him off, maybe they could leave sooner. "Sure, Stace. Anything else?"

By now, Robbie was scowling, an undeniable indicator that he was not a fan of what was unfolding before his eyes. Bill fought back a sense of accomplishment at the reaction of pure disapproval. "You gave your ring to some stripper? How drunk were you, dude?" he remarked bitterly, glaring.

"I gave my ring to my  _fiancée_ ," he corrected smugly, feeling Dipper shift uncomfortably as a ragged, startled puff of air escaped him. He swore he could hear a small whine of his name. Cute.

"No fucking way," he harshly responded and looked away. "That's bullshit, Cipher." His gaze settled on Dipper, and although he was outwardly cool, Bill knew a fury blazed within him.

Of course, Robbie had to play the role of the jealous one-night-stand. "Hardly, but I guess you wouldn't know considering you weren't even allowed to touch my ring."

Robbie's attention never left Dipper. "I can't imagine she'd be good in bed. Look at her," he insulted while his hand motioned dismissively toward Dipper, who actually appeared offended by that despite his attempts to stay neutral to the conversation. Under his breath, he muttered, "Cheap whore."

"She's a hell of a lot better than you'll ever be, Stitched Heart. You whined too much."

"Whatever," he was averting his gaze again, taking on a defensive stance. "It's your life." There was a pause before he continued, "What do you think of this new kid? Gabe Bensen — you know the guy? Been thinking of taking him on."

Gross. The last thing they needed was the gay edgelord crew. "Don't you mean Gay Bensen? You're going to make us all look like fags."

"Not like you're any better. You're engaged to a dude."

Nope. Nope. Nope. Dipperella wasn't a dude. Bill wasn't gay. Or engaged to  _that_. He wasn't allowed to be gay. "She's a gorgeous woman, you cocksucker."

"Doesn't change the fact that she has a dick."

"A knife will fix that." Bill felt that incessant little prodding again, muted noises of distress that seemed to be only meant for his ears tumbling from Dipper.

"Yeah, we'll see how that works out." Robbie looked irritated. "So… that's a no on Bensen?"

They didn't need Bensen to begin with, wasn't like they struggled after Tambry and Nate met their unfortunate demises forever ago. Lee wasn't really a loss either since he'd been next to useless after Nate's death. Soaking up the bullets for them had been nice. "If you brought him on, he'll just play with his stupid puppets. Did a freelance job with the kid once, and he sewed tiny guns for his lame ass puppets to pretend to hold."

"Fine, just… just keep looking for people then." Robbie didn't look ecstatic that his choice didn't work out, but did he truly think Bensen could be an asset to them? That screamed desperation. "Any updates from the Owls? Pentagram saw the report today, he was throwing a freaking temper tantrum over it but thinks the kids ran. So, do you know if they have them?"

Bill could feel the interest (and worry) radiating off of Dipper by this new discussion and amended his lie from earlier, "I know you're not kept in the loop too well, but yes. Stan has the kids holed up in the penthouse. He refuses to let them see the daylight like vampires until the pigs calm down. We can work something out later." Unbeknownst to Dipper, Bill was working with both crews, and he intended on keeping Dipper out of it since the last thing he needed was the kid blabbing to Stan about how he was spying on them.

There was a dangerous glimmer in Robbie's gaze, and Bill wondered if he could abuse that — how much this business with the kids was worth to him, monetarily. "Keep us updated."

"Sure, pal."

Robbie flopped back in the booth. "You can leave. As usual, thanks for nothing, Cipher, and your fiancée is ugly." Sheesh. He really knew how to hold onto jealousy for an ungodly amount of time.

"Thanks for wasting my time, Edgelord. Your shitty attitude isn't winning anyone back!" Bill stood to usher Dipper out of the booth, and left the private room, hurrying out of the vicinity as he clapped his hands together once they were outside. "That went well."

"It did?" It wasn't a question, it was a skeptical statement. Dipper kicked at the pavement idly and asked, "Why was he… acting like that?" It was as if the kid didn't even have the vocabulary to describe the mess of childish resentment that was Robbie Valentino.

Lowly, Bill chuckled. "He's pissy because we had a one night stand oh, a year ago? He's still obsessed with me and I'm pretty sure he's been binge-watching the Overly Attached Girlfriend videos and taking notes." As he spoke, Dipper dug into the pocket of the skirt, producing the gold handkerchief and handing it back. Bill was glad they hadn't had to resort to using it.

"I know he has an acne and attitude problem, but he could do better than you."

No one could be better than him. "Doll, he wishes he could do better." Seriously. No one was.

Seemingly too distracted to hear his reply, Dipper was tugging at the ends of the skirt again, frustrated. "I'm looking forward to taking this off."

"I'd like that. Strip for me, cutie."

Dipper's cheeks tinted pink, and he rubbed at his arms shyly. "I know you get really into your acting or whatever, but I'm not actually Macy the Crossdressing Stripper, remember?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that because you're dressed up as one, cherry." In honor of his rosy cheeks, which he personally found adorable.

Or that glaringly obvious virginity of his, either would work.

"You'd make a good one, though," he added in a mutter as he glanced at Dipper's ass.

Dipper noticed the not-quite-subtle staring and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he snapped, flipping him off as he scooted toward the car with a renewed sense of urgency.

"What?" Bill trailed after him, trying to hold back his laughter. "Be  _flattered_ , Pine Tree! I'm your crush, aren't I?"

That elicited a scowl as he got into the passenger side of the car. "Yeah, about as much as you are my fiancé."

"You're still wearing the engagement ring, sweetpea." Bill smirked at him as he joined him in the car, turning the switch to start the engine.

Mabel popped up from the backseat, a wide grin on her face. "How'd it go? Did you get married yet?" She gasped, the questions coming out in quick succession. "Are you going to have children?"

"Yes. Spread 'em, Pine Tree."

Horrified and ridiculously red, Dipper stared at him for a moment in stunned silence before scrambling to get the ring off of his finger.

Bill fell into a fit of laughter as he threw the car in reverse and backed them out of the parking lot. The angry horn behind them signified he almost hit someone, but Bill didn't give a fuck. He could afford to pay any damages. "I'll take that as a 'yes Bill! I'd love to!'"

"No. You are still literally the worst." Dipper had gotten the ring off and was clutching it, looking stiff as a board.

Bill remembered the conversation from earlier and grinned. "Oh, but I'm still the best in the sack, cutie. You know you want a ride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are appreciated & thanks for reading! Next update will probably be Sunday, but we'll be catching up on comment responses before that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): blood in a dream sequence.

The very first thing he'd done upon returning to the penthouse was change out of the skirt and replace it with a pair of his own jeans. Dipper hadn't cared for that experience, any of it. That guy in the nightclub had been teetering somewhere on the edge of emotionally unstable, and the conversation was all so vague, dangerous implications had hung heavy in the air; he was curious, but Bill had made it clear he wasn't to talk about it.

Between the creepy dude (Stitches?) and the crossdressing, he'd been uncomfortable the entire time despite Bill encouraging him to relax — how was he supposed to do  _that_? He wasn't a particularly great actor.

Unlike Bill, the thought sparking faint amusement. It was still entertaining to Dipper, though he could go without the teasing that sprang from his confession since he was well over the crush and had been for five years. It felt impossible to him that this Bill—the criminal dealing in shady business and murders, probably—was the same one he'd watched in  _The Pajama Game_  all that time ago. That alone made him significantly less intimidating, and it was a refreshing change of pace to no longer be on the edge of fear around Bill.

With the calmness of night washing over the penthouse, Dipper was collapsed on the sectional sofa while the television streamed  _BoJack Horseman_ through Netflix in the background. Mabel had been breaking in her new phone via a call with Pacifica, and he could hear her excited chatter through the wall from time to time. He was happy for her, though it was simultaneously troubling since he worried she was bottling her sadness and grief, moving on with her daily life too quickly to be healthy.

Dipper couldn't imagine returning to life like it was even semi-normal, pursuing romantic interests and generally being… well, okay again. Being in the penthouse was like a purgatory, keeping him suspended between having to face the world after such a devastating loss. He just… he didn't know how she could be so upbeat, so positive, and although he wished he had the ability to recover with the same grace, he simply wasn't and had been reduced to barely functioning. The sole reason he'd made it through the day was being away from it all, no television report in the background, no nightmares, and for the most part, Bill had kept his mind occupied.

Everything was overwhelming. He was relieved to have some peace and quiet tonight after the trainwreck of the day — sitting on a sofa, being able to gaze blankly at the ceiling with mindless noise filling the room was good enough for him.

From behind, he could hear the pad of footsteps crossing the room and the balcony door open and shut, a familiar noise with Bill going outside for a smoke break every once and awhile. He'd been doing it a lot, and Dipper figured it was correlated to stress considering Stan and Ford's outing remained ongoing even though it was well into the evening, after midnight. As far as he knew, nobody had heard from the brothers and anxiety was beginning to creep into him.

Apparently, the same could be said about Bill since he was smoking up a storm. Glancing over the back of the sofa, Dipper watched as his towering silhouette leaned on the railing, smoke trailing over his figure and joining the polluted sky. Watching Bill reminded him that he still had a ring to give back, and he dug into his pocket to produce it, setting the band on the glass coffee table with the lightest of  _clinks_. He'd been so distracted by changing clothes earlier that it'd slipped his mind but at least having it back in Bill's possession would end the strange… skit they had been trapped in before. He didn't quite grasp what'd been going on with that aside from the obvious Bill being a jackass and taking the demand to court him seriously, but Mabel's contributions hadn't helped matters. Perhaps he could try talking to her later, finish their prior conversation...

A growl from his stomach interrupted his thoughts, and it dawned on him that he hadn't really eaten today, hadn't even felt hungry enough to consider it since the grief had masked his need for food. Well, until now anyway, and he was regretting waiting so long.

Rising from the sofa, Dipper walked to the kitchen and began searching through cabinets for a suitable meal, not that he was especially picky anymore. As he searched their pantry, he was quickly realizing most of what they had wasn't ingredients for food but instead just a variety of snacks… and a shocking amount of cereal and potato chips. How did they stay alive on this stuff? It couldn't be healthy.

He wondered if there were other items available in the cabinets above the oven and stretched to reach the handles, but was thwarted by his slightly-under-average stature.

Dipper could hear the distant sound of the balcony door once more, followed by the approach of footsteps. "What's up, Pine Tree?" His usual scent of spicy honey was covered by the stench of smoke, and Dipper wrinkled his nose. "You look like you could use some help. And when I say 'help', I mean height."

Of course Bill would show up and take this opportunity to sling a jab at his height. Turning around to face him properly, Dipper wondered what he was doing here, why he didn't go back to watching  _BoJack Horseman_ since he was the one who'd insisted on having it on. "Why don't you guys have any food?" Dipper asked, choosing to ignore the insult in favor of satiating his hunger.

"We have food," Bill told him. "Maybe you're too short to see it." And there was another cheap shot. Dipper's expression flattened with annoyance as Bill beckoned toward the cupboards he had been sorting through. "Bon appétit, mon petit chéri!"

"Real food," Dipper clarified, raising an eyebrow at the French endearment but not commenting. "All I've seen are Pop-Tarts, cookies, chips, cereal, soda, and booze." There were other miscellaneous items, but that covered the gist of his problem.

He shrugged at him, moving to open the fridge to get a can of soda. "That's all we have, cutie. Stan doesn't like to cook meals, he just gets junk food. You should get used to it."

That answered the question of why there was nothing but ready-to-eat foodstuff, and it left him with very few options, so he begrudgingly grabbed a packet of Pop-Tarts since it'd been closest to him and didn't require challenging his height-determined restrictions in front of Bill.

The crack of the soda opening filled the air, followed by the fizz of the Pitt Cola. "Hey cutie," Bill spoke to him. "You want one, or is it too out of your reach?"

Dipper huffed, visibly exasperated at this point. He knew he wasn't actually  _short_ — maybe shorter than average, but hardly short. Bill was just tall, and it was irritating that he threw it in his face at every single opportunity because after a long and trying day, he was getting sick of it. He'd reached his limit with the harassment, the comments, the teasing.

Bill didn't take into account what  _was_ in his reach, and Dipper's hand rose to give a quick albeit hard smack to Bill's can of soda, the liquid spilling over the front of his stupid yellow and black suit. Served him right.

He could see the moment of realization, and the twist of anger on his face that faded into one of sinister determination.

Dipper decided that was his cue to get going.

Turning on his heels, he sprinted out of the kitchen, dropping his unopened Pop-Tart onto the kitchen floor in the process. He could hear the thunder of Bill behind him as he raced through the main living space, skirting past the baby grand and vaulting over the sectional sofa only to feel a large weight crash on top of him, forcing them to land roughly on the cushions but the impact sending them both flopping to the carpeted floor, just barely dodging the coffee table. They landed in an intertwined mess of limbs, Bill pinning him roughly.

A firm hand against his chest kept his upper body planted to the ground despite his squirming, and he barely had time to react when the cold remainder of the soda in the can was poured over his face. Dipper squeezed his eyes shut and coughed, flailing and kicking and thrashing wildly at the man holding him down, all the while trying to escape his grip.

The soda ran down his face, and he cringed at the sensation; he was going to need a shower in the near future.

"You shouldn't have done that, Pine Tree!" Bill's voice rang out, cheery with amusement. "Now you've gotten soda all over Stan's white couch!"

What?

His eyes fluttered open to look beyond Bill and to his horror, he saw the pink soda stains on the white couch. Oh. Oh no.

Concluding it must've happened during the initial impact, he didn't think the stains were terrible but nonetheless it was  _stained_ furniture and this wasn't even his house… So much for being a decently mannered guest.

"Don't look so glum, kid! The only one Stan's going to be mad at is you!"

"But  _you_ did that," Dipper protested, resuming his attempts to dislodge Bill from his place on top of him. To his relief, Bill loosened his grip and allowed him to slip away, but upon sitting up, the rest of the soda that wasn't already on the carpet and in his hair was dripping onto his shirt. Great.

He and Bill were quite the sight, both covered in the sticky substance. And the sofa… well, he frowned as he examined it, walking over to assess the damage. "Do you have anything to clean this with? And the carpet?" It didn't matter to Dipper who was technically at fault, he just felt guilty and wanted to fix it.

Bill's shrug wasn't helpful at all. "Check the closet? Might have a… water vacuum thing."

Dipper raised an eyebrow but was already headed to the closet to look. "You mean 'a carpet shampooer?'"

"No." A pause. "Maybe. Oh, look at  _you_  and  _your_  fancy words!" He seemed irritated by Dipper's correction, and was beginning to move to leave for the bathroom.

"Jeez, who spilled your soda?" Dipper asked sarcastically. Upon noticing where he was headed, he added, "Wait! You're not going to help clean this up?" Most of it had been Bill's direct doing, putting aside who'd started it.

"You don't need help, cutie! You can figure it out yourself. You figured out that word, didn't ya?" The door of the bathroom slammed shut behind Bill, and Dipper took that as a definitely not for the help.

About an hour later, the carpet and sofa were both free of stains — he'd cleaned before the stains set while Bill, that  _asshat_ , had finished his own shower and even had spare time to  _watch_ him clean without bothering to lift a finger, though he did move his feet out of the way for the carpet shampooer at one point without looking up. After he was done, Dipper had showered (at last, an opportunity to remove that silly bowtie from his hair) and thrown his clothes in the laundry before redressing himself in pajamas, then plopped down on the other side of the sectional sofa.

It was remarkable to him how, even after all the ruckus they made, Mabel was still holed up in their room chatting with Pacifica on the phone. And similarly, Bill was back to watching  _BoJack Horseman_ like nothing had ever happened.

His eyes landed on the ring, still perched on the coffee table, and he bit down a sigh as he was once again reminded to return it to its rightful owner. "Hey, jackass," Dipper started, scooping it up to chuck it at Bill with abandon, "thought you might want this."

It flew right into the hand of Bill, who promptly tossed it back at him. "Keep it, Pine Tree. Looks better on you anyway."

"That was probably the worst proposal I've ever heard." It paled in comparison to the other one. Dipper picked up the ring from where it landed on his stomach to examine it, unsure what he should do about this. He was confused, not exactly able to discern what the proper course of action would be when social situations were a challenge and Bill somehow made it ten times worse with everything he did.

"You already make a good housewife, cutie, with all your cleaning skills." Bill patted the white cushions of the couch. "Not even a spot of pink left!"

The housewife comment had him thinking about something similar his parents had mentioned, but that felt like a lifetime ago and he shook the memory away, hoping to avoid the surge of grief.

Continuing to idly look over the band, he said, "Well, my shirt's ruined." It was debatable. Washing the fabric would likely remove any traces of stickiness, but perhaps a faint stain would remain afterward which wasn't the end of the world, but he'd really liked the red plaid shirt.

Bill didn't sound like he cared. "Buy a new one. You still have Stan's money, don't you kid? Or did you give it to your sister to waste online?"

"I still have it," Dipper confirmed, stealing a peek at Bill, "but I think  _you_ should replace my shirt. You're the reason it's ruined, after all."

"Why don't I ruin it more?" Bill offered with a return glance at him. "Instead of buying you a new one, let's just fuck on your current one. It'll be sticky anyway."

"Gee, let me think about that. No."

Despite his persistent rejections, he placed the ring back on his finger with a mental note to figure out a more permanent solution later since it wasn't as if he could just keep the thing. With a motion toward it, he asked, "Is this ring even yours?" He wouldn't put it past Bill to obtain it illegally, and he didn't want to be caught in possession of something like that.

The expression he wore was one of pride. "I had it customized with the planetary stone for Scorpios. So, yes. It's mine."

"Scorpio, hm?" he mused, but never had put a lot of credibility in the concept of astrology and hadn't thought Bill to be the type that would either. "Aren't they the secretive, obsessive, and violent ones? Fitting."

Bill's gaze had returned to  _BoJack_. "And what are you, a Pisces? Seems fitting to me, Pine Tree."

Shaking his head, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "No, why would you think that?" Although not certain, he thought Pisces was the fish sign — so was it because of the fish tank earlier? He'd liked the mall's fish, their colors... the way they moved so gracefully, and he'd been left wanting to capture it on paper.

"Because you're stupidly emotional, kid. Which one are ya, then? You're not a Sagittarius, that's for sure."

"I'm, uh..." He racked his brain, trying to remember. About to say that he fell under the Virgo sign with a birthday on August 31st, Dipper hesitated as the implication jumped out at him: while Pisces was the fish, Virgo was the virgin. He didn't want to get Bill started on making fun of him for being a virgin again, and surely he'd latch onto that as a source of amusement. "No."

Reaching into his pocket, Bill pulled out his phone and began to mess around on it. "Suit yourself, cutie. I'll find out on my own."

Dipper frowned. If Bill knew, it would inevitably restart the conversation from before. "Fine, I'm… I'm a," he struggled to think of another sign, "Leo."

"Must be a cowardly lion, then. Sure explains why you're a huge pussy."

He shrugged it off, just hoping that would bring Bill's search to an end but upon noticing Bill's focus hadn't moved from his phone, an uneasiness settled within him and he questioned, "Are you still looking it up?"

"Yup." His phone glowed white as a page loaded. "Ooh, what's this? A late  _August_  birthday?"

"Mm-hmm," Dipper said, strained, already knowing he'd lost this battle and was about to be called out on his bluff. Even so, he weakly restated, "A Leo."

Bill shook his head. "That cut off is the twenty-second, cutie. Your birthday is the thirty-first. You want to try that again, Virgin?"

Knowing he'd been caught, Dipper groaned loudly and covered his face in his hands. "Nope," he muttered and rolled onto his side so his back was turned to Bill, "leave me alone."

"Why, cutie? You scared I'll pop your precious cherry just by talkin' to ya?"

"Maybe, with some of what you've been saying to me." It  _had_ been pretty filthy, he just prided himself on how well he could ignore Bill's blatant attempts to fluster him.

Okay, so he wasn't good at ignoring it. But he was trying damn hard.

Hunger forgotten, he grabbed the nearby blanket draped over the side of the sofa and threw it across himself, squeezing his eyes shut. If he was asleep, Bill couldn't bother him. Theoretically.

Only receiving a chuckle in reply, he heard the sofa creak as Bill got to his feet, Dipper's body tensing as he tried to gauge his movements but after a moment, the sensation of warm breath against his skin gave him a pretty good idea of Bill's location, and…

And now there was a brief, wet kiss being pressed to his cheek before Bill pulled back.

"Good night, cutie."

Although he didn't outwardly react, he wondered why Bill had absolutely no sense of boundaries. No personal space, no awareness of the fact he didn't like being around him. The sound of Bill's footsteps faded after the balcony door opened and closed, leaving Dipper alone in the penthouse to his thoughts. Seizing the opportunity, Dipper wiped Bill's saliva from his cheek. Ugh, gross.

* * *

There was a warm haze encased by a swirling mist around him, but he knew he was home, and in Dipper's hands was the golden lion statue. He was staring down at it in awe, disbelief completely consuming him since there was no way for the scene to be real. It wasn't possible. This couldn't be it.

His fingers brushed the smooth surface, tracing every subtle detail while a blurry reflection stared back at him through the gold.

Working through the mental fog, it suddenly occurred to him  _why_ it wasn't possible for his current reality, the peace shattering before his eyes as the statue seemed to bleed in his very hands, the pulsing heat of its blood spilling over his palms and fingertips and dripping onto a floor that was just a pool of crimson. And he… he was  _standing_ in it.

His immediate instinct was to bolt back, to get as far away from it as he could, but he found he couldn't move, stuck in place until an unseen force was knocking him over, sending him flying forward in a terrifying fall.

There was a distracting ringing and the sound of overbearing static in his ears. It made it hard to think, hard to comprehend what this horror was when the statue melted away to reveal marred skin blemished with scars and threads of tissue and organs and oh  _god—_ he felt himself falling through the red liquid, it staining his very soul as it swallowed him whole. He was suffocating, drowning. He couldn't breathe.

Jolted awake by a touch, Dipper's eyes snapped open and immediately landed on the shadowy form of Bill. "You okay, kid?"

Unable to speak as he was too busy drawing in deep, shaky gulps of air, he nodded. When Bill didn't look sold, he forced himself to add an "I'm fine" that seemed unconvincing even to his ears. Not a spectacular performance, but he was relieved he'd been woken from that nightmare reality.

For a moment, he was wondering how  _Bill_ was awake because it had to be approaching the wee hours of the morning and to his knowledge, he hadn't attempted to rest. Dipper was beginning to believe Bill just didn't sleep. Ever.

"Don't lie to me, Pine Tree." Bill looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced away at the sound of the door banging open. "What the fuck?"

Stan had arrived in all his ragged glory, looking almost like he got hit by a bus. Every inch of him radiated fury, with Ford trailing after looking just as haphazard, and Soos sulking in the back.

"Ya could have gotten us killed, you fucker!" Stan hollered at Soos, who flinched back like a beaten puppy. Dipper's attention was instantly on the scene, anxious to find out what had caused them to end up in such a state.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stan sir, I didn't–"

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Soos! I don't want to see you right now!" When Soos didn't move, Stan lunged dangerously toward him to shout, "Ya waiting for a kiss on the cheek? Get out!"

Soos appeared to want to say more but the collective glower from both brothers silenced him, and his expression fell as he defeatedly exited the penthouse.

With Soos gone, Ford was tossing his backpack aside carelessly and producing several pages from inside his jacket, pinning them to the whiteboard as he erased what was written there previously. "Our entire plan… it's unusable," he muttered, though Dipper wasn't sure who he was talking to. "This take several days to reconfigure, at least. We'll never get the job finished in time..."

"What happened?" Bill had left Dipper's side to join Stan and Ford near the whiteboard. "What'd Question Mark do to fuck up so badly? Where's Red?"

Stan was still seething. "He radioed in the wrong coordinates and put us in cop central. We could've been fucking killed. Wendy got dropped off at her place on the way here, probably because she didn't want to be near that piece of shit."

"We've lost ammunition and an entire day of work to his easily-avoided mistake."

Bill ran a hand through his hair. "Damn. Guess he can't be trusted with even menial tasks. Is there a way we can recover from this?"

Dipper watched the three interact as they considered the new logistics of the job and whether or not they'd be able to complete it on time, their expressions ranging from concerned to frustrated to annoyed. Next thing he knew, Ford had a plethora of notes taped to the whiteboard and was furiously mapping out a new plan for them with Bill's assistance, Stan was busy making phone calls — a few to the client, another to their personal mechanic (impressive, given the time of night) to explain the damages to their vehicles and schedule repairs, and a final one to what he assumed was an ammunitions store.

By the time they gave it a rest, they looked thoroughly exhausted — especially Stan and Ford, as they were still worse-for-wear and hadn't had a time to amend that. But now, they were splitting off with Ford retreating to the master bedroom, and Stan and Bill departing for the balcony. Dipper closed his eyes again but didn't sleep, shaky from his nightmare and the bustle that followed.

A muffled, excited screech then a burst of chatter coming from the guest bedroom signaled Mabel was enjoying her call, and Dipper was mildly impressed she was still on it, but maybe… maybe not that impressed either, since Mabel was naturally likable to everybody and he wasn't nearly a quarter as extroverted as she could be. Dipper guessed that Mabel had to be lonely, being forced to leave her usual social circles behind at least temporarily while they were in the care of Stan and Ford.

Not long after, Stan and Bill stepped back inside with the quickly-fading reek of cigarettes following while Stan sank onto the couch and Bill hung out near one of the walls.

Other than the television, it was silent. And the silence was a tranquil and comfortable one, at least until Mabel ran in, full of energy. "I got a date with Pacifica! It's on Friday!" She almost jumped into Stan's lap from her excitement, peering up at him with big puppy eyes. "Can I go? Please? Pleaassee?"

Stan hesitated, clearing his throat. "A date? Too risky, the cops are still…"

Dipper was surprised, sort of. Mabel was a charmer, a people-person who could get along with anybody, but dating? Pursuing romantic interests? Once again, he found himself caught up in the fact their parents had just died, the murders so recent that even the thought stung him. He willed the tears to stay back, knowing he couldn't have another breakdown, especially not now in front of the others, but the disturbing dream threatened his ability to keep himself composed. His worry returned: how could Mabel be dealing with her grief if she was moving on with life so quickly, seemingly not giving them a second thought?

"Well, they're still…" Stan seemed to be struggling to find words, Mabel's puppy eyes intensifying. He could see Stan's resolve breaking down as he conceded, "Ah, okay. Fine. Just be careful."

" _Squee_!" She ran around the couch, circled the baby grand piano, then ran into the kitchen. Another high-pitched squeal erupted from her, "OHMYGOSH! I FOUND A POP-TART ON THE FLOOR! IT'S MINE!"

The mention of the Pop-Tart—formerly his Pop-Tart—had his stomach rumbling once more, and he realized this was the second time Mabel had taken food from him.

And that was today alone.

"You're not gonna stop her, Pine Tree?" Bill challenged him playfully. "She keeps stealing your food."

"Oh, uh," he shrugged, "I'm not hungry." It was a lie, but he wasn't about to take Mabel's food from her, even if it was originally his. He figured he shouldn't have left it on the floor if he was going to eat it and didn't want to potentially dampen Mabel's mood over something silly like that.

Bill shook his head. "Yeah, if you keep starving yourself you'll never make it in this world. Do you want a Pop-Tart or not, kid?"

The tiniest trace of slyness slipping into his tone, Dipper said, "Only if you get a new one for me."

He smirked and began to leave the room, entering the kitchen. "Whatever you want, sugar."

"Christ," Stan muttered. "What, are  _you two_  dating now?"

Flushing at the mention of dates, Dipper laughed at the mere idea. Ironic, since he had been thinking about how impossible romantic pursuits seemed only a couple minutes ago, and to think about dating Bill— well, that was an automatic never. "God no, we're not dating."

Bill returned, dropping the Pop-Tart in Dipper's lap. "We're just engaged." Stunned, Dipper hadn't thought his face could get warmer, but it was positive on fire now, and he looked at Bill in an irritated panic. Why he hadn't seen this coming, he didn't know, because Bill had a tendency of  _always_ making things worse.

" _WHAT_?" Stan's furious voice boomed across the room.

Continuing his streak of generally making a bad situation into a terrible one, Bill planted a kiss on Dipper's head despite his attempts to dodge it. Dipper was growing quite displeased with Bill's insistence on not only picking him up now, but kissing him whenever he deemed appropriate. "Well, you told us to not get  _attached_  so I figured getting engaged after knowing each other for a day was a good even ground."

Finally finding his voice, Dipper protested, "We're not engaged! It's… it's just this stupid joke between him and Mabel."

Stan didn't seem convinced, the older man's eyes grazing over his hands. "You have his ring… why the  _fuck_  did you accept?"

Okay, that was true, but it wasn't like he accepted anything. He didn't want to be romantically involved with Bill in any form, and he assumed Bill felt the same considering their interactions hadn't suggested differently. "I tried to return it, but he threw it at me and essentially told me to keep it. There wasn't an actual proposal." Except there was that time he  _had_ proposed, but that'd been a cheap shot at making him uncomfortable, not a genuine marriage proposal...

His eyes flicked from Dipper to Bill. "Was there?"

"You betcha, Stan." Bill was grinning wickedly. Dipper wanted to  _die_. "I did it in the middle of Rockford Plaza, and I asked him if he'd make me the happiest man in the world and marry me. He said yes."

Mabel came back into the room, a Pop-Tart sandwich with cookies and ice cream in her hands. "He did!" she confirmed excitedly. "So I guess that means my bro-bro is getting married!"

"I'm  _not_ ," Dipper groaned and fell into the sofa in defeat, unsure why he bothered. It was probably better to let this conversation run its course rather than fight it when Stan didn't seem pleased with Bill, and Dipper could watch while he stuffed his face with the Pop-Tart.

Stan leaned over, face buried in his hands. "First, don't fucking bring the kids to that mall again. It's too dangerous with all the heat. Second, Bill, stay away from the kids–"

Dipper brightened at that, swallowing down a bite of his Pop-Tart to appreciatively say, "That'd be great, thanks."

"I don't care if Dipper's seducing ya–"

Probably from the sheer absurdity, Mabel giggled at this through a mouthful of her repulsively-sweet sandwich, taking a seat beside Dipper.

As fast as it'd appeared, his appreciation dissolved. "What? No!" If anything, Bill had been the one trying to seduce him — making him crossdress and masquerade as a stripper,  _kissing_ his head, propositioning him for sex. But he doubted there was any seriousness in the offers, he just didn't have the guts or will to challenge him on it.

"– _stay_  away, okay? Dipper, I dunno why you're still wearing his fucking ring," quite frankly, he didn't either but hadn't a clue what else to do with it, "and I don't really want to know. Just… try to stay away from Bill, okay? I don't need ya two fucking around with each other. Or fucking each other." Dipper could ascertain that wouldn't be an issue.

As he resumed eating his Pop-Tart, Bill just smiled and moved to take a seat on the other side of Dipper, now trapping him between the two, leaning to take a sniff of Dipper's clothed shoulder. Dipper instantly bristled, shooting him a death-glare because he  _knew_ what incident of their past he was referencing and wanted to punch him for it. "Okay, but is it just me or does Dipper smell gay?"

Looking up from her phone screen, Mabel chirped, "He is gay!"

"I'm bi," Dipper corrected.

"Bill," Stan's voice had an edge to it. "We have work to do, and you pestering the kid is only putting us back further."

Bill dismissed it with a simple, "Sorry, Big Daddy." And he thought  _he_ didn't like the nickname Lil' Dippy — the expression on his face suggested Stan hated 'Big Daddy' far more.

Before Stan had a chance to reply, Ford was reentering the living room, looking significantly more composed than when he'd left earlier, and he took a seat next to his brother. "I believe I know a way we can successfully finish the job."

Bill's eyes flashed with piqued interest. "What'd your brain conjure now, Six Fingers?"

As Bill rose to join the brothers, Dipper leaned away and narrowed his gaze at him, remembering what  _little habit_ he'd acquired recently. "Don't you dare."

In the corner of his vision, he saw Mabel glancing up to grin at them. "Dare what, cutie?" Although his tone was one of innocence, Bill's face told another story as he kissed his cheek.

"Fucking hate you."

Bill snickered. "You love me so much you want to have a threesome with me and Mabel."

That crossed a line. "Don't bring her into this," he snapped with a surprising coldness, voice brittle. Dipper didn't care if Bill wanted to throw sexual advance after sexual advance at him, he would deal with it, but he wasn't allowed to involve Mabel.

Beside him, he could hear Mabel muse. "I'm not into Dipper, but a threesome with Pacifica might be nice…"

Ford had witnessed the exchange and was merely staring at them, then shifted his attention to Bill questioningly — like he wasn't sure what to say, if he should say anything at all since nobody else had reacted in a particularly strong way. "Did I miss something?"

"I'll fill you in later," Stan cut in. "No time now." With that, they began chatting quietly together, leaving him and Mabel in relative peace. Much-needed peace.

Dipper looked to her phone—seeing she was texting her future date—and then up to her, shifting slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. "So, you and Pacifica, huh?"

Mabel had a lovestruck grin. "Yeah, she's great!"

"I'd hope so," Dipper replied, taking a quick glance at the owl clock to check the time. "You talked to her for three hours non stop tonight."

"You were talking to Bill," she reminded him. "And solidifying your engagement!"

He shook his head, "He watched  _BoJack Horseman_ the whole night, barely said a word to me." There was the brief soda-fight and what ensued afterward, but before that had mostly been quiet.

"What was that crash earlier? And the shampooer being turned on?"

"I…" Dipper spared a sideways look at Bill, then returned his attention to Mabel, "I spilled something and had to clean it." He didn't need to go into detail, more interested in learning about Mabel's new friend because he would prefer to talk about Mabel's love life rather than his own—

His train of thought stopped, and he could've smacked his forehead in frustration.

No. Bill was not part of his love life. Dipper hated the fact that Mabel and Bill's dumb joke was seeping into his cognition.

Mabel's voice dropped into a whisper. "Did Bill spill his goop on you? Don't be shy, I've shared my sex life with you before."

That had been conversation he hadn't wanted to have or be a participant in, it was worth noting. And he was pretty sure the same remained true of this discussion as well. Sure, they were close—the best of friends and always had been—but some things could remain unspoken.

"N-no!" he said perhaps a bit too loudly, giving a sheepish wave as the attention of Ford, Stan, and Bill was brought to him for a moment. "That's not what happened," he hissed, burying his face in his hands for a moment as his cheeks reddened. "Can you just tell me about you and Pacifica? What's she like?" Other than great, that was.

"Oh, well, she's funny, and sweet, and smart, and she's  _gorgeous_  and spicy, and really interesting because we didn't even run out of things to talk about the whole time we were on the phone and–"

"Okay, okay, I get it," he laughed as Mabel's sentence rambled on. "You're right, she sounds great." To use Mabel's word. He was happy for his sister, he really was, but one tiny part of him kept nagging, couldn't help but be concerned about this. "Are you sure you're ready to… uh, date?" He wished he knew how she wasn't a total mess like he was over this.

She laughed. "Yeah! Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just… our parents," he murmured, gaze averting. "I thought you might want some time… and you don't have to jump back into everything, you can grieve for a while. A-and if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

Mabel waved her hand, as if dismissing the idea. "I'm fine, Dipper! Really! Life's too short to grieve, y'know?"

Oh.

Well… alright, he guessed. Dipper wasn't sure how to respond to that, fighting back the tears again. "Just…" take care of yourself, he wanted to say as it lingered on the tip of his tongue, but ultimately he shook his head. Instead, he repeated, "Just remember I'm here for you."

They fell into a comfortable silence with Mabel resuming her text conversation with Pacifica, and Dipper absorbing himself in his thoughts.

Stan returned to the couch, falling into the cushion. "So, kids. Tell me about your, uh, home life. Since you'll be stayin' here a month or so, I wanna make sure you'll be comfortable and won't be runnin' off anywhere."

"Can we start by getting rid of Bill?" he asked dryly, though did have some things in mind that would possibly make the stay more enjoyable — first and foremost, actual food, and not just junk.

"Nah, you wouldn't make a good replacement."

"Not enough of a psychopath? I could be Bill." Dipper cleared his throat, summoning his best impression, "Blah blah blah, murder threats and sexual comments, let me fuck you Pine Tree, cutie, sugar — you're such a virgin but I'm having vivid fantasies about you and also babies. Or on second thought, I'll just pick you up and throw you off the balcony!"

"Don't forget the sternum stabbing!" Mabel said but didn't look up from her phone.

Stan shrugged, looking him over. "You're outside our Giant Bird guideline, sorry kid."

He blinked. "What?" Confusion washed over him, he hadn't the faintest idea what a  _Giant Bird_ guideline was, nor did he have any guesses whatsoever.

"Yeah, uh… Ford's a little paranoid about space owls," there was a dissenting noise of protest from Ford, "or sumthin', so he put a clause in our rules saying you have to be within a certain weight limit to join our crew. He has an equation and everythin'."

"I've poured countless hours of research into determining the ideal weight of each individual in the crew, and given your height," Ford looked him over, "I don't believe you'd qualify. Shall we find out?" He rose from his spot on the sofa and scribbled an equation onto the whiteboard, asking, "Your height in inches?"

Dipper didn't need to know, had no  _reason_  to know since he wouldn't be joining but complied regardless out of simple curiosity, "Sixty-seven."

Bill shook his head. "Sixty-seven, my triangles. Put him down to sixty-six just to be safe." And Ford did as Bill suggested, ignoring Dipper's heated complaint that he was closer to sixty-seven.

"Precisely as I'd thought," Ford stepped aside to reveal the final number, but squinted after a moment, perplexed.

"Hold on, Brainiac." Bill stepped forward, erasing a portion of Ford's equation and rewriting it correctly. "You carried the 'six' wrong."

"Yes, well, that aside," Ford was examining him again, "because you don't exceed one hundred thirty pounds, you would struggle under the weight of carrying supplies and be more of a risk than you would an asset." Ford went on to clarify, "Guns, specifically. They tend to be very important in our missions but can create quite a hefty load. And in addition, this ensures that you will not, in theory, be carried off by an oversized owl from space during a job, as that would be a terrible inconvenience to everyone involved."

Bill was smirking slightly. "Told ya you should eat, kiddo. As it is, you'll be taken away by a giant… space owl… thing."

Dipper frowned, unsure if he should be stumped by the possibility of a giant space owl (very intriguing, if nothing else) or… or what he should think after that spiel. He didn't want to offend Stan or Ford by outright stating he had no intention of being part of the crew though, so it wouldn't matter.

"Seriously, kid. Eat five more Pop-Tarts tonight. That's, what, a thousand calories or something?"

Stan cut in before he could reply. "OK, back on track. Is there anything else other than getting rid of Bill?"

Dipper started, "Maybe meal options—"

"What, you don't like the free-for-all?"

"—and books."

"Done, Ford's got some nerd books around here. Hope you like physics and anomalies."

"Games!" Mabel squealed. "We used to have a bunch of board games! And computer games! And dad got us like, a XBONE and a PS4–"

He pointed out, "Uh, Mabel… We never had any of those." Well, they did have board and computer games, but they had been heavily monitored by their parents — so nothing violent or downright uneducational. They always had been on the overprotective side.

Mabel slapped her hand over his mouth. "Shh, let's see what we can squeeze out of the old man."

"I can hear you, kid." Stan furrowed his eyebrows. "I think that's enough for tonight, we can pick it up later. You two ought to go to bed."

Stan wasn't exaggerating when he added that it was late, but Dipper dreaded going to sleep since he was afraid of another nightmare plaguing his rest, leaving him to wake in the throes of anxiety. But he wasn't going to argue and gave a curt nod, "See you in the morning. Come on, Mabel, let's get some sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100+ kudos for a two week old fic??! Thanks to everyone who's extended kudos and comments — y'all are so kind and inspire us to keep going. 
> 
> Aiming to have the next chapter out around Wednesday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): slurs, major threats of violence, brief actual violence, mentions of blood, suicide, and past abuse. Dipper attempts drugs and fails (i.e. there's dry-heaving.)

"...wake up!  _Dipper_!" The sensation of being roughly shaken awake drew him out of his restless sleep. Anxiety still pulsed in his veins, his body shaking from the terrifying experience. Very faintly, he could recall he dreamed, but the specifics were lost to him despite the lifelike nature of his nightmares.

In the dark, his eyes adjusted to see the moonlit-outline of Mabel peering down at him, an expression of annoyance painted across her face. "I can't sleep with your thrashing," she informed him. "You keep muttering and flailing, and you'll have to sleep somewhere else if you're going to continue. I  _need_  my beauty sleep, I have a date today!"

Although still in the midst of a sleepy haze, he processed what she was telling him: essentially, he was being kicked out of their bedroom. Dipper didn't think he could blame her for wanting quality rest, but the nightmares just kept coming and infecting his mind as he slept, and he didn't think a day had gone by in which he hadn't woken up in a similar state of panic. He was beginning to feel the exhaustion wear at him from all sides. Physically, emotionally, and mentally, he felt drained.

"Okay," he complied through a tired rasp, in no position to argue with her when  _he_ was the problem. Dipper drew himself from the sheets and grabbed one of the blankets and his pillow, leaving to flop down on the sofa instead. It was quiet, much more peaceful out here than in his dreams — he almost didn't want to go back to sleep in fear there'd be nobody to wake him this time.

But the serenity was interesting, for once there was no Bill Cipher stalking around the penthouse during all hours of the day and night waiting for an opportunity to bother him. Maybe he wasn't even here since he seemed to leave frequently, or maybe,  _just maybe_ , he was sleeping.

In accordance with Stan's request, Dipper had actually been staying away from him and their interactions had been minimal, though he still wore the guy's ring. After that night, he'd kept it on and now it was more of a habit, he… didn't really know what was up with that but wasn't sure what else to do with it.

Turning onto his side to try to get more comfortable, he blankly stared at the wall as he considered the nightmares he'd been having — they were always a variation of  _that night_ , the night that'd changed his life, shaken his entire world until it was an unrecognizable mess of its former self. There were pools of blood, always violence and gore, and the sound of guns. Sometimes he was killed instead of his parents, those were the less disturbing ones.

The golden lion was usually there, just the thought of that horrible thing had his stomach twisting in queasy knots. It'd been the last thought on his mind before he'd seen… them.

The nausea returned, and he forced his mind on a new track.

Now his life was different and strange, and he didn't think he'd ever feel the same sense of belonging he used to, couldn't even get a full night's sleep without being woke by his own horrifying thoughts.

Feeling restless and a little distressed, Dipper had abandoned his spot on the plush sofa and was busy pacing the expanse of the penthouse instead. Perhaps that would put him in a better position for a decent sleep, something he was desperately in need of after the haunting nightmares.

He played with the possibility of reading for a while (Ford's "nerd books" had been quite interesting) or messing with some mindless game or app on his phone, both activities that he'd immersed himself in to alleviate the boredom of being trapped in the penthouse when the others weren't around, or were too busy with their work to acknowledge him. He didn't mind, knowing he was just a guest, lingering temporarily until it was safe to leave.

The sound of a door closing alerted Dipper to the arrival of Bill, who gave him a look of annoyance. Dipper paused in his movements to examine the sight: appearing quite overtired, Bill's blond hair was mussed in a few different directions, and he was wearing something other than the formal attire — that… that was new. He had on a yellow, long-sleeved shirt with black boxers, a yellow star-print on them; maybe it wasn't as new as he'd initially thought, just more casual. "Okay, Pine Tree." His voice was exhausted, borderline harsh. "Your pacing is  _really loud_ , and I'm trying to  _sleep_ like  _everyone_  else here."

"Wait, you actually do that?" Dipper asked, raising an eyebrow but shaking the thought away after a moment. At least this confirmed Bill was probably human. Rubbing at his arms, he defensively murmured, "I wasn't being  _that_ loud."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but yes,  _I do_  try to sleep. Shocking, I know." The frustration on his face was still apparent. "So, what gives? One of us ought to get some shut-eye, better spill what's on your mind Pine Tree."

Maybe he would be flattered by that half-hearted extension of compassion if he wasn't so concerned about having to confess to the nightmares. Dipper didn't want to talk about it, he hadn't told anybody about the bad dreams and wasn't planning on telling  _this_ one of all people. So he decided to skirt the question. "The usual, kept awake by persistent thoughts of how I'd like it if that hot Bill guy fucked me." It was sarcastic, evidently so, referencing the teasing joke Bill had made toward him several days ago at Rockford Plaza.

Bill leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sugar, if you wanted me to fuck you senseless you should've been open to it hours ago. Now, why the fuck are you really pacing? I don't like it when people bullshit me."

"Funny," he muttered dryly, resuming his pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. He could use a pen to chew on right about now. But still, he didn't want to delve into the nightmares and explain to Bill what was troubling him, knowing it wouldn't matter anyway because Bill would probably laugh and brush it off, so he redirected the conversation, "Didn't Stan tell you to stay away from me?"

"He's not going to enforce that, cutie. You can't get rid of me so easily."

Continuing to silently debate whether or not he should be honest, Dipper paused near the wall window, staring into the mess of lights below as he tried to sort out his tangled thoughts. But in the next moment, he was distracted by the noise of footsteps creeping toward him, and he tensed when he felt a wispy, warm breath against the back of his neck while even hotter hands slid to rest on his hips. Bill's chin rested on his shoulder as he gave a low murmur, "You gonna talk, cherry?"

This position was familiar, it stirred a very vivid memory of his feet dangling hundreds of feet above the asphalt jungle of Los Santos, heart in his throat as his mind was surprisingly calm, and he recalled how the little urge to jump had nagged at him, encouraging him to end it all right then. And Bill had been there, almost exactly like this. The thought had Dipper biting his lip and emitting a shaky puff of air. An inhale to refill his lungs' lack of oxygen had the scent of spicy honey surrounding him, fogging his mind for a mere second before he pushed the thought back. "Yeah," he replied thickly, "just give me a moment." A moment to recollect himself, to… to move— he knew he should move away, but this was sort of nice. Without delving into the question of whether or not he'd have went through with it, this was the reason he was alive, still here, and not a pulp on the sidewalk. "We should move to the couch for this, it… it's kind of," heavy, a source of his trauma that loomed like a shadow, "a lot, I guess."

"Okay," Bill said as he led him to the sectional couch, sitting down beside him. "What's up, cutie? Don't be shy, you can tell me  _anything_ on your mind." There was a dangerous slyness to his voice that put Dipper on edge, a crafty gleam in Bill's golden eyes as they flashed in an almost catlike manner. Dipper didn't understand— maybe there was a light reflecting off of them?

Hesitating, Dipper searched his gaze, attention drawn to the clustered flecks of blue lost in bright amber, but they gave nothing away, only a guarded coldness that served as a sharp contrast from his empathetic words.

Despite the edge of anxiety, Dipper wondered where he should start with the habit it'd become, the cycle of fearing nightmares that led him to grow more and more sleep deprived. "Mabel kicked me out of our bed." He had a feeling he wasn't welcomed back either, not until he got this situation under control, because he couldn't be waking her every few hours with his thrashing and distressed noises. Dipper made a motion toward his makeshift bed on the other side of the sofa, "So I moved out here."

The darkness of the room couldn't hide Bill's smirk. "Were you groping her in your sleep or something?"

"Holy shit, no." The idea was… disturbing, approximately as horrifying as the nightmares and Bill was just determined to give him some new ones apparently. "I guess I've been a restless sleeper for a few nights." Dipper's voice raised like it was a tentative suggestion, a bit worried about how Bill would react since he didn't have the energy to deal with his teasing tonight.

"Yeah, those nightmares you've been having are one hell of an annoyance." More kindly, he added. "Not your fault, but still. No wonder Mabel kicked you out."

Startled by Bill's knowledge of the situation and his strangely understanding response, he flushed. "You, uh," he coughed in embarrassment, "you know about that, huh?"

Bill shrugged, his eyes flicking from Dipper to the wall window. "It's hard not to, considering I woke you up the other day. Remember?"

"Oh." At least that meant the others probably didn't know, but Bill was bad enough. "But yeah, nightmares. They're all pretty similar." Rubbing the back of his neck, Dipper wanted to go on since he knew Bill would ask him, but he was feeling choked. He couldn't pinpoint why he felt so ashamed of this, however discussing the nightmares was the equivalent of pulling teeth perhaps because the cognitions were so damn anxiety-inducing and he had no control over if they appeared, how long they stayed, if they would wake him in a sweaty panic.

"You want to talk about them in details, kid?" Bill asked. "Or would you rather not do that?"

Although he'd correctly guessed Bill would inquire about them, he didn't know he'd be presented with a choice and Dipper observed, "You're significantly more pleasant when you're sleep-deprived."

He chuckled lowly. "I'm always sleep-deprived, cutie. I can hardly get five minutes on good nights."

"Too many fantasies about me in a lacy, pink thong?" He rolled his eyes but didn't wait for a reply, thinking about how he should approach the nightmares. Dipper tried to mentally identify the consistent pieces of each but felt himself becoming tongue-tied, the stage fright of talking about it returning. "As for the nightmares…" he forced himself, "they're always about that night." Stomach churning, he didn't know if he was going to be sick or cry, which consequence of grief it'd be this time. "I think seeing them," his parents, "really messed me up."

"Relax, cutie." His gaze had returned to him, hand moving to rest on his knee. "You look stiffer than a board."

"It's like you're using this as an opportunity to flirt with me," he laughed a bit sadly, brushing a hand through his hair as he sunk further into the sofa. His focus wasn't on the touch, mind much more preoccupied with the nightmare issue.

He shook his head at him, a smile at the corners of his mouth and despite what he'd claimed earlier, Bill still seemed nicer when they were both overtired beyond belief. "Please, doll. I've been nothing but a gentleman. I imagine your parents' bodies did have some impact on your mental state, but it'll get better. Trust me on that, Pine Tree."

Dipper gave him a skeptical look. "Trust you? Nothing you've done to this point has given me confidence in your dependability… or in your chivalry, for that matter." He wasn't trustworthy, nor was he a gentleman as far as Dipper was concerned.

"You should be grateful," Bill told him. "I haven't Soos'd you yet."

"Oh my god," he groaned, "that's some weird sex thing, isn't it? ...Oh." It dawned on him. "You mean that one guy?" He'd almost forgotten there was a member of the Owls of Anarchy named Soos since he hadn't been seen around here since the evening they'd sent him away.

"And  _I'm_  the dirty one. You make me look chaste, cutie."

"Hugh Hefner couldn't make you look chaste," he retorted, ignoring Bill's mutter of 'bless that man.' "I thought you meant Seuss as in… Dr. Seuss. Sexy times with rhymes." Curiosity lapping at him, he asked, "But what is Soos...ing me?"

"He's a fucktard at the worst times."

Although he wanted to point out Bill was basically a fucktard all the time, he let it drop and said, "Yeah, I still don't know what you're going for there."

Bill had a small smile planted across his face. "If I Soos'd you, you would've been shot to death by a bunch of cops by now."

"Are you talking about what happened a while ago?" Dipper didn't know what else he'd be referencing. "I mean, that sucked, but… it was one time." And Stan and Ford had been fine, albeit furious with Soos for doing that.

"Kid, if you think he's only fucked up once, you'd be dead wrong."

"Kind of getting some creepy vibes from all these death-related phrases," a sigh escaped him as he tried to relax again, "and I'm already struggling with nightmares as it is."

He chuckled, "You need to lighten up, cutie. It's not good for your health to always be a Negative Nancy."

"Oh gee, thanks, I'm sure my new positive attitude will cure my nightmares." Every word dripped with sarcasm as he spoke, and he shuffled to flop onto his back, draping his legs over Bill's lap a bit carelessly. "Do you have any  _actual_ advice for a change? And for the love of god, don't give me that 'Stop' nonsense."

Bill ran his fingers down Dipper's ankles and feet, the motion causing him to shiver lightly. "My advice is to stop thinking about it so much. Seriously, my 'Stop nonsense' will do ya a lot of good, kid."

That was easier said than done, and he confessed, "There's not a lot to do around here." Most of the crew was going in and out of the penthouse intermittently throughout the day, and he and Mabel were left behind to entertain themselves… which worked for a while, but there just wasn't much to occupy a grieving mind. Phone apps were only so many hours of fun, and that left browsing the Internet or cleaning the penthouse, the latter something he'd done multiple times over in the past few days.

"I'm sure you can find something to occupy your time." Bill was continuing to run his fingers down his feet idly. "Pretty sure we have Netflix, you can get addicted to some dumb show."

"Like  _BoJack Horseman_?" he teased, knowing Bill had a particular fondness for it. Although a plausible suggestion, he didn't control the television — Mabel usually decided what they were going to watch (he didn't have a preference), or at least she did when she wasn't texting or talking to Pacifica on the phone.

"If you want. Hell, I'd watch that with you if you wanted. It's a damn good show."

"Wow, the fantastic and handsome Bill Cipher making time in his busy schedule to watch  _BoJack_  with me? How flattering." Dipper was on a sarcastic kick this evening, deciding the lack of sleep made him more inclined.

"Cutie, I know I'm good looking, but you should save the bedroom talk for when we're fucking."

Dipper tore his gaze away from the ceiling to settle it on Bill, eyebrows hitching in surprise. He didn't know why he seemed to think they were going to be getting it on in the future. "Pity you'll never hear it again."

Bill shrugged. "You say that now, sugar, but you won't be able to resist me for long. It's a fact twinks like you won't be able keep your hands off me forever. You'll cave into your desires."

"You're right," he sat up to flick Bill in the cheek rather unceremoniously, snickering, "I can't keep my hands off you."

"That's okay," Bill said with little reaction, patiently tolerating the abuse as Dipper flicked him another time for good measure. "I'll just keep my dick in you."

And that was the end of sitting with Bill comfortably. Dipper shuffled away from him and rose from the couch, resuming his pacing in front of the wall window as he kept his eyes on the city below, still alive despite the time of night. He mused that it was never quiet, just busy and even busier. "How long do Mabel and I have to stay here?" It'd been less than a week and he was already tired of this, just wishing he could try to resume his life as normally as possible since staying here didn't seem to be helping his mental state.

Going out on their own was extremely intimidating, but it was one step above being cooped up.

He looked over in time to notice Bill was yawning as he stretched, his back arching. "Maybe less than a month? It's a little hard to say, but that's how long it took for others when they stayed here."

It was difficult to not appear disappointed in that. A month was so long, especially when he couldn't manage to get a peaceful night's sleep.

"You look happy. Can't handle a few weeks in Stanland?"

"Since getting rid of you apparently wasn't an option, no." But that wasn't the problem, not really. More like one of many.

Bill's eyes rolled. "Stop wishing I was gone, cutie. It's not gonna happen."

"In spite of your generous offer to watch  _BoJack_ with me, or... your many offers to sleep with me, I can't imagine you aren't wishing I was gone." But luckily for both of them, that would happen eventually in what might be less than a month's time.

"Eh, I don't really have a huge preference either way. You're entertaining to me, kid."

Dipper bristled. He'd already known given the copious amounts of teasing, but to be so brazen about it was a new level of nonchalance. As he reached the end of the wall window, he stopped, unwilling to turn around since he'd be facing Bill again and right now, he didn't think he could. He didn't want to, knowing that stupid smirk was probably on his face. "I just wanted a normal life," the one he'd had before all of this, "in which I'd go back to college in the fall and not spend the rest of it being messed up after—" after seeing his parents dead, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Sorry to burst your safety bubble, kid, but life is never normal in Los Santos. It's killed or be killed, and your parents obviously didn't pull their trigger fast enough."

Not in the mood, he didn't want to hear it and coldly replied, "Right."

"Honestly," Bill coolly continued, "if your mom had been better at cracking down on gangs maybe she wouldn't be dead."

"I'm starting to think the nightmares would actually be preferable over talking to you." He was willing to retract his statement about Bill being pleasant when overtired, he was back to being as annoying and unkind as ever.

"Come on cutie, I'm trying to  _help_. You're being too sensitive."

Combing a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly. "Or maybe you're just being insensitive."

"Nah, I'm as sensitive as a bee. Buzz buzz."

"Coincidentally, you look like one too." With black and yellow being his signature colors.

Something smacked into his back, and he whirled around to see a pillow on the ground. Bill must've thrown it at him. "Are you going to cry about that like you do everything else, Pine Tree?"

Dipper scowled, expression darkening with fury. While he was generally hard to rile into genuine anger, Bill pushed all the right buttons to bring him to that point since he couldn't find it in himself to just be  _slightly_ understanding, not even caring enough to make an effort or pretend to be decent — no, the only thing he seemed to be capable of was telling him to get over it, that he was immature for wanting to grieve at his own pace. Intending on putting the pillow back into its rightful place, Dipper snatched it from the ground and advanced toward the sofa, smacking Bill in the face as hard as he could manage—and feeling mildly satisfied by the loud  _THWUMP_ it created; he just didn't want to see that smirk anymore, or hear his dumb voice.

Bill looked surprised by the attack, but that quickly faded into laughter. "My stars, you're such a child! No wonder you're so damn sensitive."

"You threw it first," Dipper reminded him bitterly, returning the pillow to the corner of the sofa.

"Yeah," Bill laughed, "but I didn't go bashing it on you because I'm having a little emotional tantrum."

Frustrated, Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing again, wishing there was a pen in his mouth to chew on until it was a malformed piece of plastic. Although it was difficult to keep his emotions in check when he was trying to deal with the sudden surge of loss in an otherwise unremarkable life, Bill was right in saying the outburst  _had_ been childish, and he was upset since he was better than that.

After minutes of pacing, he ultimately flopped back down on the sofa, collapsing into a pathetic heap as Bill continued to watch him. In a more gentle tone than normal, he spoke: "Do you hate me that much, Pine Tree?"

Dipper mumbled, "You make it really easy."

"I could say the same about you, cutie. The only thing you have going for you right now is you look more fuckable than Soos."

"Thanks," he said flatly, giving Bill a quick glance, "you don't."

"So you'd fuck Soos? Damn kid, that's some low standards. Let me know how you find his dick through all his fat."

Dipper shook his head, "Just because he's more… fuckable," to use Bill's word, "doesn't mean I'd act on it. I'm not you."

"You should be. You'd have a hell of a lot better time than," he beckoned toward him, "whatever the fuck you're doing with yourself now. Moping?"

"So you're suggesting I sleep around to avoid the grief," he clarified, the idea sounding so very Bill-esque and no better than his Stop Method.

"Hey, your sister does and it works well for her!"

Protectiveness ignited within the depths of his soul, and the next thing he felt was his jaw tightening hard enough to give him a headache. "Don't bring Mabel into this." It was the second time he'd made that request, not that Bill seemed to be able to process it through his thick skull. Laced with a menacing iciness, he added slowly, "What she does isn't any of my business."

Bill grinned. "Look, kid, don't hate on me for being honest with you. Your sister has a hell of a good time being loose, maybe you should try it out."

The comment had Dipper feeling sick and enraged, and he didn't know why Bill thought it was appropriate on any level— he almost couldn't believe it, the sheer amount of abrasion required to reach this, how the teasing escalated  _to Mabel_ because that was taking it way too fucking far. His annoyance with this was bleeding into frustration from other dick moves Bill had pulled on him, rendering his control threadbare, slipping impossibly fast even though he  _knew_ Bill was just doing this for a reaction, to satiate his own demented and twisted need for entertainment but that merely egged him on and stirred the embers that threatened to explode into a blazing inferno. If he was just doing it for a reaction, well…

Well, he would give him a goddamn reaction.

In a quick movement, Dipper grabbed the pillow again and whipped it toward Bill, aiming not  _for_ him but just close enough to distract—

And by the time Bill had caught the pillow, he was too late to do anything but watch dumbly as Dipper's wound fist swung forward and decked him in the jaw with a deliciously surprising force.

There was a second of calm, a second where time was frozen between them. A second in which they both stared at each other in surprise, Dipper's aching fist dropping to his side as he blinked in astonishment at what he'd done.

He didn't get a chance to face the inevitable regret because Bill was knocking him over, pinning him with excruciating roughness, and tightly— _painfully_ —restraining his wrists above his head by holding them together so hard he was sure it was going to leave a bruise. "Is that the best you got, Pine Tree?" Bill shouted the demand as he towered over him, the intimidating boom sending blood rushing through his ears and adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Bring it, kid! I've had worst hits from my dad on a good day!"

The words stolen from him, Dipper went limp as he tried to process that, but only began to panic when he felt Bill's other hand press down on his throat. The pressure was so light, almost nonexistent, but it was the  _threat_ that had him on edge. When he breathed, he could feel the slight obstruction of Bill's fingers redirecting the air. "Well, Pine Tree? You going to keep attempting your  _pathetic_  attack? I could  _kill_  you right now." Bill's fingers gently pushed on his airway, briefly making it difficult for Dipper to breathe.

He whimpered, the sensation so strange and foreign with Bill's fingers there, and said a bit breathlessly, "Yeah, you could." The other piece of his statement, the unspoken truth, was a suspended tension between them.

_But you won't._

"I want to," Bill quietly said, sounding almost fascinated. His eyes were bright, predatory. "You have such a pretty little throat. It would be so…  _remarkable_ , to feel your breath strangled from you as you feebly struggle to escape."

Shuddering with dread, he really—  _really_ didn't want to know where this was going. "Bill," it was a soft albeit firm demand, "let me up."

The compliance immediate, he was released and Bill sat back on the couch, fingers stroking his own throat. "Delicate," was all he said. "Your throat is incredibly soft, Pine Tree."

His mind short-circuited. What was he supposed to say to  _that_?

"O-oh?" Dipper near-asked, voice raised with concern. "Look, uh, breathplay later, but for now I probably shouldn't have punched you so…" he rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm sorry about that."

"Pine Throat, don't tease about the breathplay. We both know there won't be a  _later_  with you." Bill lowered his hand. "You should be. My face isn't a punching bag for your noodle arms."

"Did I hurt you?" Dipper let out a bark of a sad laugh. "Guess it doesn't matter. You wouldn't tell me if I did." And he was right, Bill was giving him nothing but a blank stare, so he moved on. "About what you said before…"

Bill scoffed. "Surprised you were listening, considering how focused on  _attacking me_  you were."

Ignoring Bill's attempts to redirect him or pick another fight that'd veer them into a new discussion, he was too curious to let it affect him. "Talk about it. I promise I can be a good listener."

"If you are, then you sure haven't shown me."

Dipper shrugged. "Well, it's you. I usually don't bother, but I can make an exception."

"Let's step outside," he offered but was already starting for the balcony, grabbing his jacket on the way out, while Dipper trailed behind. "Get some fresh air."

A puff of bitter laughter escaped him at that. "There's no fresh air in this city."

Opening the sliding door had a rush of heat greeting them and Dipper inhaled, Bill's perpetual spicy honey scent mixing with the many smells of Los Santos, most unpleasantly polluted. No shocker there but unfortunate regardless, even more so with the political efforts his parents had been making to fix the environmental problems. But that wasn't what mattered right now. "So about your parents…" he started, glancing to Bill as he waited to see if he'd talk about it after dodging the subject earlier.

Bill's gleaming eyes were on the sky, scanning. Seeking. "There's not much to say, kid. My dad hit me." Bill's hand motioned carelessly while Dipper chewed his lip in consideration, noting the emotionlessness of his recollection. Weird, but then again, this was Bill. "Thought if he beat me enough, it'd kill any gay. And it worked."

"Obviously, I can't think of anything more straight than how you've been relentlessly hitting on me."

"You're a girl. It's fine." Dipper's eyebrows hitched critically, Bill waved him away. "Go back to being a housewife, won't you?"

He stared at Bill for several seconds before turning his attention to the city below, fighting down the old wounds of being called feminine, unmanly. Old wounds that'd inflicted deeper hurt than Bill could ever hope to do with his risible verbal assaults. "First, I'm  _not_ a girl, and second, I'm not a housewife." Even if he did clean the penthouse to ward off his boredom and intrusive thoughts, that didn't make him a housewife especially when his residence here wasn't completely by choice.

He could hear him scoff. "Please, those feminine hips of yours don't lie, cutie." What could only be Bill's hand slapped his ass, bringing Dipper to flush lightly but whether his reaction was a result of the crude comment or the motion, he didn't know.

Dipper turned his back to the railing to prevent future smacks, muttering defensively, "Still not a girl."

"Don't lie to yourself, sugar." He could see Bill looking back at the sky, and he followed his line of vision but didn't spot anything of interest: just the standard Los Santos skyline and a couple faded stars. Bill's expression turned into something similar to a frown. "Can't see anything good."

Dipper peered questioningly at Bill but elected for silence, choosing instead to begin pacing on the balcony. This was merely a continuation, a change of scenery with the same problem haunting him: the lack of rest from nightmares ever-present in his sleep.

Bill seemed disinterested but commented, "You're going to wear the concrete out."

"Yes, witness my long-con suicide attempt. Less efficient than jumping over the rail, but has much more of a buildup."

"You have the most boring suicide attempts."

"How would you propose spicing it up?"

"Douse yourself in gasoline, light a match, and run down Main Avenue with your body burning. That'd be hot."

That was definitely a pun, and he smiled a little crookedly as he hummed, "As much as I lava good blaze, I don't think I could take the heat." Bill's annoyance at the puns encouraged him to keep going. "So I have to ash: do you have any other ideas?"

Bill laughed. "Death by cop."

Smile fading, he deemed the thought a bit morbid, unnervingly so when it was coming from Bill and half-tempted to ask if he had something he wanted to talk about. But he held his tongue, in favor of simply resuming his pacing and wishing he could figure out some way to sleep without the terrible imagery haunting him.

"So, Pine Tree." Bill seemed to be shifting the subject away. "You wanted to go to college?"

"Wanted to go  _back_ to college this fall," Dipper corrected because he'd already started and was over a year into his studies.

A contemplative hum. "What for?"

As he asked what his focus was, he hesitated in his answer; while he'd normally be happy to share, he was always cautious in doing so with Bill, never quite sure what would be used against him. But finally he responded with the smallest of chuckles, "Art. Visual art."

"I figured it'd be something faggy like that."

Dipper sighed, he'd known it was coming. "It used to be film studies," that'd been the logical choice after doing theater crew throughout high school, "but I liked art better, so I switched. Kind of miss my sketchbook."

Bill glanced at the street below. "If you liked art better, why even bother wasting time with film?"

It'd partially been a money problem. Despite his family's status, he hadn't been  _handed_ anything to use for his college education when his parents had spent years forcing him into clubs and activities so he'd have a better opportunity for scholarships. They'd been strict about their kids paving their own path in life. But Dipper didn't want to talk about that, it would be just begging for the grief to consume him so he settled on, "Most people end up changing their majors multiple times." It wasn't that he'd known right away that he was going to enjoy art more, it was an exploration process. Raising an eyebrow, Dipper asked, "Did you just automatically know what you wanted to do,  _Doctor_?" If memory served, he recalled Bill mentioning previous college experience, though he hadn't really elaborated on it.

"I wanted to do theater," bitterness crept into his voice, "but my father— fuck kid, I don't owe you anything. I didn't have the opportunity to change my major multiple times. Or once, even."

Something about the way Bill said it sent a cold shiver of dread into him, maybe the dangerous inflection had him uneasy. "Never too late, dude. I can see it now, Bill Cipher as Billy Flynn in  _Chicago_ ," he spared him a sideways glance and hesitant grin, "you'd be great as a shady lawyer."

Bill shrugged. "It's not my thing anymore, cutie. Besides, it wouldn't be a good idea considering I'm a wanted criminal."

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot you were kind of a famous criminal here in Los Santos," Dipper used Bill's words, facetiously citing the conversation that occurred directly before he'd remembered where he'd seen him all that time ago, "and you top most wanted lists. The media can't get enough of you."

"They really can't." His voice had become smug. "I'm sure you've seen my image plastered—"

"On the poster for  _The Pajama Game_? Yes."

"I should chuck you off this balcony." The reply was tense, agitated. He could see Bill's fingers twitch against the railing.

"Guess if you did, you'd have to find somebody else to carry and mercilessly tease to your heart's content."

Bill didn't seem amused. "That's called your sister. You're easily replaceable."

"She wouldn't put up with your shit like I do. Mabel has a backbone." Dipper snorted. "Besides, you wouldn't like it as much, she wouldn't be  _entertaining._ " Maybe he was still slightly bitter about that, he hadn't cared for being told he was a mere plaything, an object of amusement to Bill, but it wasn't as if he'd expected any differently with this jackass.

"At least she wouldn't be such a pain to sleep with."

"You just threatened my life, then called me easily replaceable. Why I'm not begging for a fuck after such magnificent dirty talk is an absolutely unsolvable mystery." How he ever managed to get a doctoral degree was lost on Dipper if he was this dense.

"All I've done, sugar, was be honest with you. Anyone in their right mind would love my dick in them."

"Well, I wouldn't, and you still suck at courting." And given the nature of his interactions with Bill, he didn't understand why he'd want to sleep with him… assuming there was an element of seriousness in it, which he had doubts about.

"Seeing your parents' corpses must've really fucked you up." Bill was fishing his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one up and offering another to Dipper, who wanted to make a comment about health-related concerns again but held his tongue, actually taking one with the justification that it was: one cigarette that Bill couldn't enjoy, and supposedly had calming properties that might be able to lead to peaceful sleep.

"Thought we already established that." It was a bit snappish, though he wasn't sure if it was irritated with Bill, himself, or the recurring nightmares, settling on a mix of all three. "But regardless I wouldn't be into you, dude. You're an ass."

He laughed at that. "The only ass here is yours, cutie."

"I should throw your cigarettes over the balcony for that." Okay, so maaaybe he was mocking Bill's tendency to threaten him with that particular method of death. Just a little.

"Maybe I should press the burning end of mine into your pretty little skin and watch you squirm in pain."

Dipper fiddled nervously with the cigarette that he'd taken, corners of his lips twitching downward. "So you've been taking foreplay tips from  _Cosmopolitan_."

Bill blew smoke into the air. "Never read it."

"Guess you're just naturally inclined to stupid ideas then."

"I'm naturally inclined to put a bullet in your head." He seemed to notice how clueless Dipper was with the cigarette, and he pulled out his lighter to light Dipper's. "Put the orange end in your mouth."

Doing as instructed, he placed his lips around the cigarette and watched through a semi-puzzled gaze as the other side ignited, the tobacco lit. Unsure of what to expect, he drew in a deep breath and—

Instant regret.

Dipper flinched back and immediately succumbed to a series of violent, body-shuddering coughs, woozier than he'd ever thought possible and feeling so terribly sick from the single drag. One shaking hand grasped the railing of the balcony to steady himself, certain he'd be falling over otherwise. "G-get the bullet," he was interrupted by his own hacking, " _get the bullet_." This was one of the worst possible physical sensations he'd ever experienced and was wishing he'd never accepted the cigarette in the first place.

"Nah, this is better." He was watching him suffer with a smirk.

" _Ohmygod_ , Bill—" Dipper moaned, strained. He was hunched over the rail now, but didn't register the city below since he was too focused on how awful every inch of him felt. "I'm— I'm gonna.." he didn't even get to finish the warning as he dry-heaved, trembling wildly while tears welled in his eyes. Biggest mistake of his life, it was right up there with entering the hallway...

"Christ, kid. You can't even handle a little tobacco."

By the time he was finished, he was still draped over the rail in a boneless heap, hands covering his flushed face as he tried to stabilize himself again. Why people craved this sort of lightheadedness, he had no idea but knew he'd not be subjecting himself to it in the future.

"Smoke more. You'll get used to the taste." A pat on the back, then a pause. "You're not going to toss up your guts, are ya?"

He didn't respond right away, still trying to feel well enough to do more than just breathe and exist, but when he finally did it was a weak, semi-broken laugh. "Don't have any." A sad joke but also thankfully true since he'd been dry-heaving instead of vomiting, and there was an ironic piece to it; in the past he'd repeatedly demonstrated his ability to stand up to Bill, though wasn't quite in condition to when he was overly exhausted from nightmares or one cough away from dying because he'd attempted to smoke.

"Oh, I'm sure you have  _some_  in there. Do you want to lay down?"

"Bullet's still my preference," Dipper stopped mid-sentence, thinking he was going to be ill again. He was relieved when it never came and continued, "but I guess that's a close second."

He peered out of his hands to see Bill grinning down at him. "I can always shoot you on the couch if ya want, kid."

"Okay," he agreed with a sigh, caving. "When Mabel replaces me, don't forget to tell her that she should mess with your bowtie at every possible opportunity."

"I'll pass," Bill said. "Or I'll have to cut off her hands." He moved to wrap his arms around Dipper, lifting him in a fashion similar to Bridal style.

Dipper was limp in his arms, feeling too sick to be putting up a fight. "Some replacement she'll turn out to be."

There was no hiding the edge to his voice as he approached the sofa on the balcony. "Yeah, well I don't like replacements fucking with my shit. When you did, I wanted to murder you and discard your corpse in a dumpster."

"Looks like today's your lucky day."

"Don't tempt me, Pine Tree." He dropped him onto the sofa.

Looking up at Bill's tall form, his head was still spinning and he briefly wondered if his pupils betrayed the sense of motion sickness he felt. In an attempt to lessen the discomfort, his eyes fluttered closed as he challenged gently, "Do your worst."

There was a muffled yet alarmingly loud pop, and Dipper could feel something whip over his hair and hit the cushion just above his head. Startled, his eyes flew open again, wide as they snapped to Bill. Although he was risking becoming sick from the motion, Dipper scrambled to his stomach to see the damage, his suspicions confirmed and almost in disbelief, he murmured, "You… shot the sofa."

"I told you to not tempt me." There was movement on Bill's end, and at a glance Dipper could see the handle of Bill's gun vanish into a pocket of his formal jacket.

"Must've tempted you so hard your aim faltered," Dipper commented, feeling shaky, still sick. "Or maybe your teasing about me having a crush was more of a projection."

"Hardly. Would you rather me put a bullet in your precious sister's head? You can spend the rest of your miserable life knowing it's your fault she joined your parents six feet under."

"Oh, relax," he muttered. "I know you're not gay… or whatever."

Bill's eyes glared at him. "I'm not a fag like you."

Sharply, he retorted, "You just like to blow them?"

Dipper knew he was treading a thin line with that, and the response he received confirmed he'd hit a sore spot.

The cold steel of the pistol pressed against his forehead. A rush of endorphins had his motion sickness from before returning, full-force. Dipper's breath caught. Fear gripped him.

He stared at Bill in uncertainty, trying to decide his next move with precision. He didn't want to die— although terrified that trigger would be pulled, he was having doubts Bill would go through with it, but maybe wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

After a short moment that felt like forever, Bill lowered his pistol with a laugh, tucking it away into his jacket. "I'm not going to shoot you, Pine Tree! Probably. That'd be  _ridiculous_  of me, wouldn't it be?" His words left Dipper's mind reeling and his eyes blinking in surprise, meanwhile Bill flopped on the opposite end of the sofa, patting his lap to urge Dipper to join him.

Still stunned, he didn't move, just appeared dumbfounded by everything that'd occurred. "Um," his voice had raised, "no? No, not really. You've been threatening it for the last ten minutes, at least." He'd had reason to believe there was a chance, however minimal, Bill would've shot his brains out.

"Relax, cutie. I'm not going to  _actually_  hurt you. Come rest, you look tired as hell." He patted his lap again. "I'm not a  _savage_ , sugar."

Swaying from the motion sickness, Dipper remained nearly frozen for another second or two but hesitantly took him up on the offer, laying down on his back with his head on Bill's lap. "Yeah, I forgot that you were nothing but a  _gentleman_." According to Bill, that was.

Bill smiled at him. "I am a gentleman. Have I harmed a hair on your little head, cutie?" As if illustrating his track record as a saint, Bill brushed a hand through his hair, fluffing it enough so he could run his fingers over the Big Dipper birthmark and Dipper tensed, but he didn't pull back.

"No, but you do seem to want to murder me and discard my corpse in a dumpster," he countered. "That doesn't scream 'gentleman.'" It fell in line better with "homicidal tendencies."

"Ah, but Pine Tree! I haven't done any of that, so I'm still a gentleman."

"Still a murderer too, so I'm going to take that with a grain of salt," Dipper pointed out.

Bill made a 'tsk' noise. "Relax more. Can't be healthy to always be so untrusting."

"I say one thing to you and you pull a gun on me. My distrust is justified."

"It was a warranted reaction to that 'one thing' you said." His expression had briefly twisted into one of contempt. "I warned you, and you didn't listen kid. I can't help putting some scare into you, and besides, there was no harm done."

" _Relax_ , don't be so  _untrusting_. I was merely commenting on your cigarette smoking habits," Dipper replied innocently, poking his bowtie. "But it's nice to know you're just trying to intimidate me. I'm trembling with fear." And… in seriousness, he had been. He'd been ready to fearfully beg for his life a couple minutes ago, but that had passed with Bill's strangely-cheerful reassurance that he wouldn't harm him.

"Don't touch my bowtie, kid. I'll bite you if you keep at it." Bill informed him, "My cigarettes are probably worth more than you are."

"To you? Yeah, I'd say so. We both provide momentary entertainment, but you're a skilled enough smoker to not get burned by the cigarette."

He scowled. "You're a pest, you know that, kid? I don't know why Stan is bothering to keep you around. It's not like you're useful to us now that your folks aren't in office."

He didn't know how long they'd stayed like that, caught in a silence with Bill staring at the sky and Dipper gradually relaxing. Coming down from the flood of adrenaline and already exhausted due to the lack of sleep, the need to rest was catching up to him and making his eyelids start to droop.

"Would Stan care if you killed me?" it was a morbid question but slipped out before he could think about what he was asking, the inquiry a product of the several seconds of panic induced by a pistol against his head.

"He'd kill me," Bill responded. "So, yes. But there are worse things than death, so if I killed you I couldn't complain."

"This is the most messed up, abridged version of  _Romeo and Juliet_ that I've ever heard in my life."

A nostalgic smile crossed his lips. "Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Though I guess, it'd be 'Thus with a bullet to my head', but you know, close enough."

Dipper laughed lazily as Bill recited the line, looking sort of dazed. "You're  _such_ a nerd, dude." A yawn escaped Dipper and his eyes lidded, the fatigue inching its way into him. "Were you ever Romeo?" it was a gentle question, a low murmur.

"Once, long ago, in fair Verona." That was enough to reduce Dipper to a fit of tiny giggles; Bill's smile hadn't faded, amusement shining in the golden eyes interrupted by a tiny splash of blue. Dipper couldn't remember seeing him so genuinely happy before, but it was a nice sight, much more honest than the stupid smirk. "You would've missed it. It was a play when  _I_  went to high school."

"Oh, so in ye olden days. Got it." His voice was slightly slurred as sleep was beginning to lap at him, his blinking growing slower and slower. "Send my deepest condolences to your Juliet."

Bill gently flicked his hand, which startled him into brief consciousness before he was fading again, another yawn tumbling from him. "You are my Juliet, cutie."

"Don't we have to elope first?" he asked idly, too tired to do anything but go along with the joke.

"Well, we're already engaged. Would be easy to swing by a courthouse and sign that marriage certificate."

"You're so weird," he mumbled with a soft laugh, but found himself unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Giving in to the pressure of sleep and letting them close, the world faded around Dipper as sounds and scents muted, melting into oblivion while unconsciousness dragged him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the first semi-positive (more like neutral, I guess) note these two have ended on, but they still have a painfully long way to go. Thanks for reading, next update will be Sunday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): slurs, awful puns/jokes, impulsive and dangerous behavior. Quick reminder that fic content shouldn't necessarily be taken as a reflection of the thoughts/opinions of the authors.
> 
> So this is going to be sort of a wild week since we have two split chapters to share, and we're planning for updates on Tuesday, Thursday, and finally Friday (apologies for having a horribly inconsistent schedule.) Anyway, all aboard the BillDip rollercoaster! Fasten your restraints and enjoy a week of chaos with the dorks.

After falling asleep on the balcony sofa, Dipper had woken up on the sectional one inside the living room to the sounds of Stan and Ford preparing bowls of cereal and lightly bickering with each other. Nothing out of the ordinary for them, he thought, it was more like a background noise in the penthouse at this point because it would probably be unusual if they weren't having a mild argument over something ridiculous.

His day had been fairly tame so far: he'd joined the brothers for breakfast, and it wasn't long after that Mabel woke and joined them as well. It had given them a chance to chat— well, it'd primarily been Mabel talking about her upcoming date in the evening with Pacifica and Stan giving questionable dating advice while Ford simply tried to be encouraging. Although still concerned she was internalizing the grief, Dipper was just happy that she was happy for now, but made a mental note to talk to her later.

Later came sooner than he'd expected when Stan and Ford left the penthouse, Stan muttering about a recon mission (specifically, redoing it without "that fuckup") but giving no other details.

He and Mabel were sprawled out on the sofa together,  _Why You Ackin' So Cray-Cray?_  playing on the television. It was nice to be alone like this, the penthouse actually feeling welcoming and warm for a change, the perfect atmosphere to have this conversation in since he didn't want to make Mabel uncomfortable with it. After her initial outburst of grief, the one Bill had solely been responsible for, he was concerned about inadvertently triggering another. Dipper didn't want to make this worse for her, just wanted to make sure she was handling it okay despite her joyful reassurances that everything was fine. It really wasn't, their parents were  _dead_ , and it was as if she was ignoring the problem.

"Hey Mabel," he started gently and with a hint of a smile, the words drawing her attention away from the television show. And now, although he'd had an entire plan for how this conversation would go, a plan that he'd been working on over the past hour, he felt like he was at a loss. He couldn't remember a single thing he'd wanted to say to her. Why did his mind have to blank at the worst times? Struggling just to get anything out at all, Dipper settled on, "Do you like it here?"

Mabel tipped her head to a side, her questioning eyes on him. "Of course I do!" Her voice was cheery, typical. "Why wouldn't I? It's just… just like home, like Stan wanted."

"Is it?" he asked, unable to help the skepticism bleeding into his question. "Aren't… we kind of missing something?" It was hard to call home when  _they_ weren't here and never would be.

"What do you mean?" Mabel asked, but from the shakiness of her voice it was clear she already knew.

He wondered if there was an easy way to do this, a way that wouldn't have Mabel on the verge of falling apart in front of him. With his own hands trembling, he tore his eyes away from Mabel to reach for the remote, bringing the volume much lower to avoid competing with the background noise of the television. Glancing back to her, Dipper gave her a pained look, speechless. Unsure of what to say when everything he conjured felt inadequate, having no idea what the right thing was to say— was there a right thing to say? He was lost to a sea of emotion and frustrating uncertainty.

She averted her gaze from him, quickly wiping at her eyes as she looked back at the TV. "If this isn't our home… we don't have one."

There was a pang in his heart. Ugh, this was going to sound so cliche. So very cliche. But it seemed strangely appropriate, and he sighed, "Right now, our home's with each other, that's it."

"We can't be together forever, Dipper." Her voice was quiet.

"I know," there was an almost mournful undertone, "but we're kind of all we have left." Throughout their lives, it had always been him and Mabel, they were a team and it was no less true without their parents in the picture. They were there for each other during the rough times, whenever they were unsure or scared or just wanted someone, and that would be something they could fall back on forever.

Beyond Mabel, he could see the TV's picture change as the show shifted to the news, a breaking news coverage on updates on the murder investigation, and an image of their parents appeared on the screen. The blood drained from Dipper's face and he didn't even give a thought to how coincidental the timing was, just scrambling to turn it off in hopes Mabel hadn't seen anything since she'd been teetering on the verge of—

And he watched as Mabel crumbled completely, body shaking in quiet sobs. "I c-can't believe... they're gone." She sounded miserable, heartbroken. "It's so  _hard_ without them."

Although it felt like his own heart was being crushed under the weight of her grief, watching her breakdown like this, there was some relief that came with it… in a strange way. He remembered the night they arrived at the penthouse: he and Mabel had cried in the guest room together for who knew how long, just letting it out and not knowing how to comfort each other, and then it'd simply stopped. Her lack of grieving had been so frightening to him.

Dipper felt tears in the corners of his own eyes, throat impossibly tight. He felt choked but didn't care and only wanted to be there for Mabel as he leaned over to draw her into a hug, instantly finding comfort in the familiarity of it. Her muted sobs encouraged him to tighten his grip, tears spilling over his cheeks and onto her clothed shoulder.

He could feel her shift in his arms, reciprocating the hug by wrapping tightly around him as she sobbed harder into his flannel shirt. Her tears dampened the fabric while she shook uncontrollably, like she couldn't contain her mourning anymore. "I tried t-to keep going and be strong," she sniffled, another sob bursting from her. "I thought everything would... would feel better if I just held it in."

"Mabel," Dipper murmured but his voice cracked with emotion, "don't do that, okay? It's… it's not good for you." Inhaling shakily, he pulled back to look at her, not daring to let go right now, not when they were both so broken and vulnerable. All he could do was restate a choked, "Please don't do that again. I want to be here for you, I  _am_ here for you. I've always been here for you, ever since we were little—"

"I… I didn't really want to," she wiped at her ears, "Bill told me I should stop because everyone would hate me for being a crybaby if they knew."

Dipper froze. It felt like his insides went cold at the mention of Bill, turning to ice slabs and cutting through him. Of course it had been  _fucking Bill_ and his shitty Stop idea. And… and Dipper almost couldn't believe it, how heartless he was. He was just a big fucking liar that'd tried to charm him and make him think he was actually halfway decent when he was the most inconsiderate asshole on the planet, incapable of caring about anyone but himself. But... Dipper knew he had to be here for Mabel right now, he could deal with Bill later. He  _would_ deal with Bill later.

"You shouldn't have listened to him," it was tense, hurt, and he pulled her back into a hug. "He doesn't know anything about grief or loss because he's—" insensitive, callous, cruel. "It doesn't matter, what does matter is that… that you know you  _can_ grieve and take as long as you want and you can talk to me." It was a rambling sentence, shaky with sadness, wobbling on the edge of a sob.

Mabel sniffled again, breaking away from him slightly. "Are you sure?"

Stunned for a second, Dipper nodded quickly, fervor in the motion. "Of course. It's you and me, Mabel." It always had been, they were the Mystery Twins. Wiping the tears from his eyes so he could see her without the water blurring his vision, he said earnestly, "We're going to get through this, I promise."

"Okay." She dived back into the hug, squeezing him firmly. "Love you, Dipper."

Dipper nuzzled her affectionately. "Love you too, Mabel."

As the day went on, they'd gradually recovered from their emotional moment together, parting with the promise that they would seek comfort in one another and grieve at their own pace, and he'd been Mabel's audience as she tried on various outfits and did her makeup. When he'd inquired, Mabel insisted she was okay enough to go on the date despite their earlier conversation, polling him on what he thought Pacifica would like best, though he hadn't the slightest clue. He didn't even know her but from what Mabel had said, she sounded nice enough and probably liked Mabel for Mabel, not for what she was wearing.

Before she'd gone, Dipper had made sure she knew that he'd be a text away if she wanted to ditch for some reason, grief related or not.

Mabel had left for her date and Dipper was reduced to boredom, which he tackled by playing on his phone and cleaning the place to stave off the intrusive thoughts as he waited for someone to return. He didn't dare touch Stan and Ford or Bill's bedrooms; he figured they wouldn't appreciate that, and Dipper didn't have a deathwish.

The only noise was the mindless droning of the television, he'd turned it back on since the news had claimed to have shocking developments in the murder of his parents after a thorough investigation of the mansion he'd used to call home. The 'shocking developments' were nothing more than a sensationalist headline after someone had identified the golden lion was missing from the scene, and they were looking into the possibility of a robbery. That seemed laughable to Dipper with everything he'd been through, even if the fact it was missing did still bother him.

Caught up in wiping the grime from the kitchen counter, he was startled by a sudden vibration and looked to the source of the noise, his phone sitting atop the coffee table was brightening with a new notification. Aside from Mabel flooding him with hourly updates on how her date was going, nobody had contacted him — Stan and Ford knew his number, but had said they would only be reaching out to him in the case of an emergency.

His curiosity was piqued as he picked up the device, head tilting in confusion. It was an unknown number. Swiping the notification, it read:

 **(7:41 PM)**   _hey_

Mundane enough, but strange since he wasn't sure who would be texting him at this number when nobody knew it. Tentatively, he typed a reply.

 **(7:41 PM)**  Hi?

 **(7:41 PM)**   _i saw your grindr profile_

 **(7:41 PM)**   _thought you looked hot_

To say Dipper was confused would've been a severe understatement. He hadn't the slightest clue what this stranger was going on about since he didn't have a Grindr account, and Stan had instructed him and Mabel to stop updating their social media, not that he'd been too active to begin with.

 **(7:42 PM)**  ?

 **(7:42 PM)**  I don't think you have the right number

 **(7:42 PM)**  Also, I don't have a grindr profile?

 **(7:42 PM)**   _want to meet up?_

Well, that was an easy one: absolutely not. It was puzzling enough to have a random number texting him but to want to meet somewhere… that was reaching new levels of weird, and he wanted nothing to do with this.

 **(7:43 PM)**   _you can find me in room 501 at the generic hotel ;)_

 **(7:43 PM)**   _i'll give you a good time_

 **(7:43 PM)**  Are you a bot or something?

It was his best guess, albeit a shaky one when the Generic Hotel wasn't actually that far from here and room 501 was incredibly specific. Even so, his finger was hovering over the block button, intending on ending this conversation but receiving a message that made him pause:

 **(7:43 PM)**   _nah, i just like my men noodly_

And it clicked into place — this wasn't a creepy bot, this was a creepy Bill. His expression went from perplexed to utterly annoyed, and he could've thrown the phone across the room, or even off the balcony. Anything but this.

 **(7:44 PM)**  I fucking hate you

 **(7:44 PM)**  I regret not instantly blocking you

 **(7:45 PM)**   _it's cool cutie, i'd just get another burner phone ;)_

 **(7:45 PM)**  Ugh, you're like a cockroach. How did you get this number anyway?

 **(7:46 PM)**   _correction: i'm like a cockroach, but better_

 **(7:46 PM)**   _and you don't need to know, sugar_

 **(7:46 PM)**  Way worse, I can't even stomp on you. Seriously though, was it Stan?

It was the only possibility, though he couldn't imagine why Stan would give it to Bill willingly when he'd been very specific about them staying away from each other. It was a great guideline, but Bill didn't seem to care which just rendered it pointless.

Plus, with what he'd done to Mabel, Bill was the last person Dipper wanted to talk to.

 **(7:47 PM)**   _he has a list of everyone's number on the fridge in case we need to contact someone_

 **(7:47 PM)**   _i'm surprised you didn't see it_

 **(7:48 PM)**   _must be too short_

Dipper didn't know how he'd failed to notice that and wandered into the kitchen, glancing at the refrigerator only to realize he was right. There was a list of phone numbers, each with a signature next to them — his and Mabel's seemed to be in Stan's handwriting. Bill's was signed 'Bill Cipher' in a fancy script with little stars dotting the i's, and sure enough, the number matched the one texting him.

 **(7:49 PM)**   _did you fall off a ladder trying to see the numbers?_

 **(7:49 PM)**  No, I was just kind of hoping you'd stop texting me

 **(7:50 PM)**   _not gonna happen, cutie_

 **(7:50 PM)**  Besides, this is such a cheap way of getting my number. So much for being a gentleman and asking

 **(7:50 PM)**   _are you going to cry about it?_

 **(7:51 PM)** Since you said you're going to keep harassing me, yeah, I might

 **(7:52 PM)**   _well my job ended early and i WAS going to see if you wanted some stupid hipster coffee_

 **(7:52 PM)**   _but maybe you don't deserve it_

 **(7:52 PM)**  What a lukewarm pity date proposition

Stupid hipster coffee? Dipper didn't even know what that was or why Bill thought he'd want it, much less with him. This was Bill, and he was… a piece of work to say the least.

Dipper didn't think the guy was worth his time, he would never change being a sadistic jerk. Probably best if he didn't engage with him and just waited until Mabel was back from her date, because he was certain she would be better company regardless.

 **(7:53 PM)**   _watch it, pine tree. anyway, i'll be there in about ten. you better be ready_

 **(7:53 PM)**  Wait what

 **(7:53 PM)**  I didn't even give you an answer

 **(7:53 PM)**  Spoiler: it was going to be a rejection

 **(7:54 PM)**   _you say that now, but we all know you were going to say yes ;)_

( **7:54 PM)**  Dude what the heck? No

( **7:56 PM)**  Are you actually coming here

( **7:56 PM)**  I swear to god

( **7:59 PM)**  BILL

Not amused by the lack of reply, Dipper wasn't sure if he'd be showing up or not, but was prepared for him if he did. He wasn't going to put anything past Bill anymore given what he knew about the guy and as much as he didn't even want to see that asshat, he would begrudgingly seize the chance to talk to him alone about all of this. Well, more like yell at him because his "advice" had been completely out of line.

And although he didn't want to admit it, the hour of near-complete silence in the penthouse had been wearing on him, as it was sort of chilling being the only one here. Mabel was usually around but being totally alone… it was new, and sort of haunting.

 **(8:07 PM)**   _hey cutie_

 **(8:07 PM)**   _come here, i'm outside_

He was already heading for the door of the penthouse since there was no point in staying around here any longer now that he could get out, and as a bonus have a  _chat_ with Bill.

Making his way downstairs and out the main door, he was greeted by the sight of a gold Cadillac and a grinning Bill in the driver's seat. "Took you long enough, Pine Tree."

"Yeah, I was having a hard time deciding if it was worse to be in total isolation or trapped with you." Dipper climbed into the passenger side, flashing him the faintest innocent smile — it was forced and seconds away from sliding into a grimace, since he couldn't be around Bill without remembering his earlier anger toward him. "That's a compliment by the way, but you don't fucking deserve it after what you did to Mabel." Any warmth he'd expressed earlier was replaced by a tense coldness. "How could you tell her to  _stop_ grieving?"

Confusion crossed Bill's face. "What are you– oh. That. Wow, cutie, you're really out of the loop. That happened ages ago, when she decided to go cry in the middle of the living room like an elephant trumpeting. That is to say,  _being very loud about it_. I get you're… adjusting kid, but it really improved the atmosphere when she eased up."

By the time he finished speaking, Dipper wore an expression that seemingly couldn't decide between terror and absolute anger. It… it was horrifying, listening to this sociopath, how he thought it was actually  _okay_ to do that to people. "Do you get some sick pleasure out of hurting everyone around you or something? That's all you seem to be able to do with some miniscule amount of competence: manipulate and abuse people for your own selfish gain." Dipper snapped. "It didn't improve the atmosphere, it could've really fucked her up!" And he probably didn't care at all because this was Bill, who couldn't be bothered to express any sort of kindness, just a facade, nothing more than a slick charm that was used for furthering his goals. "The only thing that would improve the atmosphere of the penthouse is if you  _just stopped_ too— and by that, I mean stopped showing up."

"Relax, Pine—"

Dipper didn't want to hear it. " _No_ , I'm not going to relax!"

"Will you let me finish for once?"

The earnesty of it caught him off guard. Forcing his fists to unclench and his breathing to become more stable again, Dipper stared at him through a narrowed gaze. "Once," he echoed Bill. "You have  _one fucking chance_  to prove to me that you're more than just human garbage." He didn't know why he was bothering, certain Bill would screw this up.

Bill faintly chuckled, looking like he was about to speak, but Dipper cut in before he could:

"Congratulations, you already blew it."

"Look at you, all fired up. Seriously, kid. I didn't…  _mean_  to hurt your sister, okay? I have a habit of trying to get things that agitate me to go away and I wasn't up for listening to her wail so early in the morning." Bill sighed, giving Dipper a tired look. "I'm  _sorry_ , but I can't change anything I've done in the past."

"No sincere apology is followed by 'but.'"

"I guess you haven't heard many then. How can I make it up to you?"

Dipper didn't want to hear this. It was painful to remember he'd been sort of okay with Bill last night— there'd been hiccups but ultimately he'd thought things were… alright between them, yet in reality it seemed like it'd been another one of Bill's false fronts. What a surprise. "Why do you think there's a way to magically  _fix_ this? That's not how life works." Dipper's voice was bitter but had lost its earlier edge, and he was slumping into the passenger door in defeat.

Bill blinked at him, but his expression gave nothing away. "Okay. I'll show you. Would you still like hipster coffee, cutie?"

Dipper didn't know why he thought he deserved the time to prove himself, if there even was anything to prove after what he'd already done. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered a "hang on" and took out his phone, knowing there was still at least one person he could count on.

 **(8:18 PM)** Hi Mabel

 **(8:18 PM)** Is your date still going okay?

 **(8:18 PM)**   _It's going great!_

That was a good sign, but he wanted to ask about her since that was who he was truly concerned about. If she was anything less than feeling wonderful, he wasn't going anywhere because he wanted to be available in case Mabel needed him.

 **(8:18 PM)** And you're doing alright too?

 **(8:18 PM)**   _Yep! We went on a walk then to a restaurant and now are enjoying entrées!_

 **(8:18 PM)**   _And she got up to use the girls room and I got a picture of her butt! :)_

 **(8:19 PM)**   _You wanna see it?_

At that, Dipper blinked in alarm, staring at the message for several long moments before he could even think of a suitable reply.

 **(8:19 PM)** Nahhh I'm good

 **(8:19 PM)** You'll have to tell me about it tonight when you're back

 **(8:19 PM)** Your date, not her butt

 **(8:19 PM)**   _[attachment sent]_

 **(8:19 PM)**  I'm not opening that

 **(8:20 PM)** _It's so cute though!_

 **(8:20 PM)** Still not opening it

 **(8:20 PM)**   _You should, it's worth it!_

Dipper exhaled. Although he didn't mind making idle conversation with Mabel, that wasn't the reason he'd initially texted her; he wanted to get her opinion, to know what she thought of Bill since she always had been better with… people stuff than he did. Everyone adored Mabel, including him, and for good reason.

 **(8:20 PM)**  So .. I'm kinda sitting in Bill's car?

 **(8:20 PM)**   _Kinky!_

 **(8:21 PM)**  He asked me if I wanted coffee and I talked to him about that other stuff

 **(8:21 PM)**  I guess he apologized but I don't know

 **(8:21 PM)**   _Let that man take you out and rock your world!_

Mabel's words giving him pause, Dipper couldn't help but glare at Bill briefly — he didn't deserve this. And he didn't think he  _wanted_ to be taken out or have his world rocked, it'd already been rocked enough without Bill's intervention, and his presence generally infused chaos into every situation. While Bill had noticed the glare and was staring at him questioningly, Dipper ignored it and turned back to the text conversation, clarifying:

 **(8:21 PM)** This isn't a date, probably

 **(8:22 PM)** I hope it's not

 **(8:22 PM)**   _I want pictures, I like seeing how short you are next to him!_

 **(8:22 PM)** This is Bill, remember? The guy who intentionally told you not to grieve

 **(8:23 PM)**   _That's in the past, Dippy bro-bro!_

 **(8:23 PM)**   _Learn to forgive!_

 **(8:23 PM)**   _And take up coffee opportunities!_

 **(8:23 PM)** Your enthusiasm is worrying again

 **(8:23 PM)** Are you sure you're okay?

 **(8:24 PM)**   _Listen here, Dippy._

The message was surprisingly stern for Mabel's standards. And it was perhaps worse than when she'd been excited about the possibility of him and Bill being on okay terms again because damn, she could be scary when she wanted to be.

 **(8:24 PM)** I didn't want you to tone it back this much

 **(8:24 PM)**   _You need to get over your obsession with how Bill talked to me a week ago._

 **(8:24 PM)** It's not an obsession, it's seriously fucked up

 **(8:24 PM)** He's fucked up

 **(8:25 PM)**   _Yeah, but telling him he did a bad a week ago is like smacking a dog for something he did a year ago_

 **(8:25 PM)**   _He won't learn from it_

 **(8:25 PM)** He wouldn't learn from it regardless of my timing

 **(8:25 PM)**   _You need to move on and just... see if you can catch him sooner, maybe that'll help him_

 **(8:26 PM)** I think you have too much faith in him

 **(8:26 PM)**   _You'll see I'm right :)_

 **(8:26 PM)**   _And also butts_

Dipper raised an eyebrow at the last message but tucked his phone away, figuring that was the end of the conversation for now. He looked forward to the opportunity to catch up with Mabel tonight, and she could tell him about how the date went since she already seemed to be dying to spill it to someone.

Glancing to Bill, he was surprised to see he was just sitting there. Continuing to watch. Had Bill been staring at him the whole time?

"Did you get your sister's blessing?"

"She thinks it's a date."

"Nice. So, hipster coffee?" Bill's hand had moved to rest on the gearshift, pushing the lock in so he could move it into reverse. Apparently he was ready and eager to leave, hardly going to give him a chance to back out.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Dipper tried to let go of his frustrations through a long sigh so he could at least honestly tell Mabel that he gave it a shot, or she'd probably be upset with him for not allotting Bill an actual chance at redemption. He sometimes wished he wasn't such a pushover when it came to her. "They would take one look at you and tell you to get out. You don't look nearly hipster enough, no plaid or suspenders or square frames or anything remotely hipster-like." He reached over to poke his perfectly-tied bowtie, knowing that was something Bill seemed to dislike. "You're just a dapper  _gentleman_." To use Bill's word, not that he believed it for a second anymore.

Bill's expression darkened. "Watch it, Pine Tree. You have all your fingers now but that can change in a heartbeat." He shooed Dipper's hand away, the vehicle rolling backwards. "But check again, cutie. I'm covered on the suspenders."

"You say that like you're not itching for a chance to tie it back in my hair." Dipper didn't doubt he would either, but he still retracted his hand since he hadn't cared for that the previous time. At the mention of suspenders, he examined Bill for a couple seconds, seeing nothing but a bowtie, dress shirt, and vest — all in black and yellow, of course. What else? The only thing missing was his formal jacket, but a glance at the backseat solved that particular mystery.

Curiously, his head tipped to a side as he kept his eyes on Bill. "Are you?" If he wasn't simply bullshitting him and was wearing suspenders, they weren't immediately visible but… he wanted to know. Dipper didn't wait for a response as he leaned over the console, weaving under Bill's arm to avoid disturbing him while he drove, his fingers deftly starting to undo the buttons on his vest.

"Doll, if you wanted to see me naked you could've just asked before we left." Their vehicle had backed onto the street, and Bill threw the gear into drive, turning the wheel to propel the vehicle to the left.

"Just… shut up and let me—" Dipper blinked and despite his lingering annoyance, in the next moment was bursting into a fit of laughter because to his amusement, Bill  _did_ have suspenders on. Black, the suspenders stood out against his yellow dress shirt. And he still really,  _really_  wanted to be angry at him, even with what Mabel said, but this… "Oh my  _god_." He was caught in a weird place of disbelief yet totally believing it, and he couldn't stop himself from gently snapping one of the straps like he was trying to prove what he was seeing was real.

Bill's eyes were on the road, but his smirk was never ending. "Like what you see, sugar?"

" _Yes_ ," he snorted, chortling. Not bothering to fix the vest, Dipper shifted back into his own seat and finally calmed down from the laughter. "Why are you like this, dude." It wasn't a question. Bill was so weird, so strangely filled with surprises and he didn't even know what to think anymore.

"I like to live life to the fullest, suspenders included." They had blown through a red light, not that he was surprised since Bill was driving, but it was nevertheless concerning.

Dipper ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he bothered with Bill, why he did this when it was painfully obvious that he was never going to get anywhere with this lunatic of a man.

Their vehicle swerved to avoid hitting a pedestrian, an older woman with a walker. They'd missed her only by a margin of about five feet, and Dipper shot Bill a glare once his initial spark of panic had faded. "I know you're all about living life to the fullest, but I'd like to live my fullest life and help everyone else do the same. Quit driving so recklessly." They were everywhere on the road with Bill's ridiculously dangerous swerving to get between vehicles.

"I didn't touch a hair on her head, so it's not reckless, Pine Tree!" Bill hit the gas, cutting in between two vehicles and tailgating the one in front of them. "Take it easy, okay? We'll be there soon."

"If we don't die first," he muttered, body rigid with the constant worry they were about to hit someone and have one hell of a crash considering the speed traffic moved at in Los Santos.

As they grew closer to an exit, the traffic around them died down as the other vehicles moved off the highway. "We're not going to die, cutie. I'll make sure of that."

"Should I text Stan and tell him to pass out little cards that say 'are you grieving? just stop' at our funeral?"

Bill laughed. "Funny. You ever want to be a comedian, Pine Tree? You have some great material."

Dipper hummed for a moment, "Can I tell you a joke?"

"Sure, Pine Tree. Better be just as good as that last one."

"It's actually amazing, but you have to get it." Trying to remember the details so he could deliver it just right, Dipper cleared his throat. "There's these two guys, on opposite sides of a river. The first guy calls to the second, 'How do I get to the other side of the river?' and the other guy shouts back," he paused for the maximum dramatic effect, "'You  _are_ on the other side of the river.'" By the time he was done, he was grinning but had managed to hold back his own chuckling.

Bill gave him a blank look. "I said tell a good joke, kid."

"It  _was_ good," he insisted with a laugh. "You just didn't get it."

"If you think that was decent, your sense of humor must've gone downhill rapidly."

Although he disagreed, there was no point in fighting him on this and he switched conversational topics with a question, "So… hipster coffee?" Dipper was just as in the dark as he had been several minutes ago, Bill proving to be no help.

Bill chuckled. "I want you to make the most complicated coffee you can. Prove to me you're an art student, Pine Tree."

"That's what this is about? Seriously?" He didn't know if he should be amused or insulted, aware of the stereotypes that hovered over students pursuing degrees in the fine arts but in spite of his irritation, there was a barely-noticeable smile beginning to crack through his exterior as he asked, "This is the best test you could come up with?"

"I have more, cutie, but this is your task for today. You up for it, or are you going to chicken out?" His tone was challenging.

"Today," he repeated, deadpanning. He was tempted to question why this was so important to Bill but held his tongue, settling on, "For all you know, I don't even like coffee."

Bill shrugged. "You're a hipster, you love complicated coffee with enough sugar to make Will and John Kellogg cringe."

Dipper frowned. "That's a stereotype."

"It's  _accurate_ , cutie."

"Not necessarily." And why Bill seemed to think he knew him so well, he wasn't sure since they were barely more than strangers to each other. They would've just remained strangers if not for Mabel's encouragement to try again, which he was still uncertain about... but now with Bill speeding down a thankfully-empty street, it wasn't like he could go anywhere.

"Do you like coffee, Hipster Tree?"

The frown shifted into a scowl as he glanced away. "...Maybe."

He could hear Bill chuckle. "What a walking stereotype."

"Like you're any better, Nice Guy." The thought made him shudder a little, a queasy memory coming to mind.

But he let it go after a moment, noticing Bill didn't seem to get what he'd been going for when he responded, "I  _am_  a nice guy. I'm taking you out for coffee, then we can hang around the city while we enjoy it."

Finally looking at him again, Dipper commented, "I thought a  _coffee date_ would be too gay for your tastes."

"Hey,  _I_ never called it a date, sugar. I'm not a fag like you are."

"Silly me, I forgot how common it was to go out for coffee as two completely heterosexual dudes with a platonic relationship." Though, he wasn't quite heterosexual, something Bill even was aware of, and as for Bill… well, he'd apparently had sexual encounters with men and women, but insisted he wasn't gay, so he didn't really know.

"We can be heterosexual life partners, cutie. No homofagginess involved." Bill beamed at him. "We're already a step in the right direction with being engaged."

Great, they were back to that. Dipper stole a downward glance at his hand and frowned as he remembered he was still wearing Bill's ring, not that he had any other idea of what to do with it since Bill had shown no interest in getting it back. He'd encouraged him to keep it, leaving Dipper in a bit of a complicated position but it wasn't the time to worry about that. "Don't you need the matching ring," what that was, he didn't know, "if we're going to be heterosexual life partners?" It was difficult to keep a straight face saying that — there was nothing heterosexual about either of them, and he was equally puzzled about being  _life partners_ with Bill. What the hell that meant, he didn't know.

A laugh escaped him. "Don't worry about that, cutie. I already have another custom one in the works. We'll be matching in no time."

"Wait, what?" That… was concerning, and his stomach twisted at the new information, but Bill didn't say anything more. Dipper figured this was worth prompting him about. "Uh, a few more details would be good." It wasn't a great time to be vague about what he meant by that.

Bill shrugged, sparing him a brief glance. "Nah, there's not much more to say. I have another ring being studded as we speak."

"Like, a copy of this one?" Dipper questioned, raising his hand to look at the gold band and glittering rubies. It was pretty, but represented nothing more than a fake engagement, apparently between… heterosexual life partners.

"It's similar to it, yes. It's not an exact match."

Dipper's eyes narrowed as they drifted back to Bill, but all he could see was that stupid smirk on his face that didn't tell him anything useful, as was the norm. "Okay," he said slowly. "And you're sure you don't want your ring back?" Perhaps then he wouldn't have to make an almost-copy of it.

He shook his head. "No, cutie. It's your ring."

"Right." Still concerning, but he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with further questions since Bill seemed set on keeping this shrouded in mystique. He guessed he'd just have to wait and see what solidified their somehow heterosexual life partnership, even if none of that was accurate. They weren't heterosexual, and life partners was a definite stretch when he wouldn't even call them friends; they weren't going to be around each other forever because with a pinch of luck, Stan would be letting him and Mabel leave in a few weeks.

Moving on, he wondered aloud, "Where are we going for coffee?" They'd been driving for a decent amount of time and the sun was nearly dipped below the horizon, but they were still cruising in Los Santos, reaching the downtown sector of the city. "I thought we'd be going to Cool Beans since that's the hipster hangout."

Oh. Hopefully, Bill wouldn't question why he knew that. Familiarity with the preferred coffee shops just kind of came with the territory of being an art student.

"I was planning on going to Hit 'n' Run," Bill said. "Easier to grab coffee through a drive thru. Besides, weren't you  _adamant_  about how you  _weren't_  a hipster, cutie?"

"Hey, you're the one with suspenders on." He leaned over to give them another snap to accentuate his point. "If anybody's a hipster, it's you."

He could see him roll his eyes, their car sharply turning as Bill avoided colliding with another vehicle. "I know you're in denial of your hipsterness, but I'm not the art student who likes coffee here."

Recovering from the jarring turn, Dipper steadied himself and gave Bill another warning look. The driving had been peaceful for a while, but now they were back to rushing down the road, zig-zagging. Dipper said, "You do realize there's a handy pedal next to the gas, right? That's called the brake, and you should use it because your driving is horrendous and I don't know how we're not dead." That wasn't even an exaggeration, Bill was more dangerous behind the wheel than anyone he'd ever met and seemed to be completely ignoring most traffic laws, yet somehow they were unharmed.

"What do you expect?" Bill's voice was a laugh. "I was taught by a Russian cab driver!" He made a point of blasting the horn at another vehicle, who as far as Dipper could tell, didn't do anything wrong to begin with.

"Who,  _Rasputin_?"

"Actually, his name was Stalin."

"Wow." He leaned against the passenger door, a hand covering his face. But he peeked through his fingers to mutter, "I guess that explains why you're  _Russian_  to get everywhere."

The vehicle veered to the left, cutting off someone behind them. "Yeah, I don't like—"

"Don't do it."

"— _Stalin_."

An embellished sigh tumbled from him. Bill was impossible. Before he could say anything more, there was a jolting  _CRASH_ , and he squealed in surprise, flailing forward for a second before he was able to regain his balance. Looking around in worry, Dipper could easily see where their vehicle had smacked into another, the other car curb parked. It didn't stop Bill from plowing on despite the damage, Dipper mentally noting this was all kinds of horrible even though there'd been nobody in the vehicle. "Huh," he heard him mention casually, "that outta leave a  _Marx_."

Dipper groaned and flopped back against the passenger seat, eyes closing in frustration. He hated Bill. So damn much. "Did you do that intentionally?" he asked, an accusatory inflection in his voice since he had a suspicion Bill only wanted to make the pun at the risk of doing something very illegal and paying expensive damages.

"Maybe." He could  _hear_  the smirk in his voice, didn't even have to have his eyes open to picture it either. " _We_  did that intentionally."

He  _was_ annoyed with Bill and wanted him to know that, yet he still couldn't help but indulge him just the tiniest bit with a grumble of, "You're giving me so many red flags right now." Flatly, he added, "But really, your driving is almost as bad as you are."

Bill chuckled. "Y'know what they say in Russia: seize the means of production, moy milyy."

Although he had doubts, he opened his eyes to glance at him and ask, "You're not actually Russian though, are you?"

"Oh, cutie, Russians don't have money. So no."

Dipper gawked at him. "Am I really hearing this."

"Have  _you_  seen a wealthy Russian? No? That's what I thought."

Aaand that was the end of his involvement in this conversation. He didn't need to tell Bill that he was being obtuse and terrible, his shit-eating grin said it all: he already knew. Dipper was pretty sure he no longer wanted any part in it and was genuinely considering silence for the rest of the ride since Bill was the one who'd dragged him out in the first place.

After a moment, Bill inquired, "Would you like a more serious answer?"

He didn't bother to look at him, not even peering away from the passenger's window. "No. Don't talk to me."

"I'm from Florida." He ignored his request. Typical.

But despite his attempts to remain uninvolved, his eyebrow raised slightly, the curiosity that'd followed him around for his entire life returning at the most inopportune times. "Where in Florida?"

Bill gave a little hum. "Why don't you guess, and I'll tell you if you're correct?"

"Vice City."

"Try again, cutie. I'm not that generic."

"You are one-of-a-kind," he agreed, "thank god." He didn't think he could take any more than the one Bill — it felt like being around him drained his sanity. Continuing to his next guess, he was going down the line of populous cities. "Miami?"

Their car rolled into the parking lot, hitting the curb in the process (luckily not too roughly), and Dipper made a huffy noise at the lack of proper precaution being taken. "Ding ding ding! We have a winner!"

At his answer, Dipper couldn't stop himself from laughing and managed to ask, "You're kidding, right? You should've just mentioned that off the bat, everything would've made so much more sense." It would have immediately explained why Bill was... all over the place. "So you're from Florida… Are you sure you're not secretly ninety and can't make up your mind on who to vote for?"

"I vote for whoever seems like they'd be more fun at a party, since I usually end up inviting them to one. Assuming they're down for some under-the-table business."

"Bet you had a love-hate relationship with Nixon back in your day." Although he knew Bill wasn't old enough to have been alive, it amused him.

"Hey! Everyone knows how much of a scandal Watergate was! Not. Anyway, what do ya want kid? We're here. Make it complicated." They had pulled up to the screen, Bill's window rolling down.

Dipper silently apologized to whoever had to take this order, and the one who had to make it. Perhaps they would see he was trapped against his will and being forced to do this, for no other reason than to prove he was a pretentious art student. Dipper's eyebrows furrowed, why was he going along with this nonsense again? He bet Mabel didn't have to put up with this on her date.

"Fine," he muttered, knowing it would only be harder if he put up a fight. After all, this was Bill, so once he'd gotten a chance to think for a couple seconds, he said, "I guess a skinny iced caramel mocha with extra whipped topping and caramel and chocolate drizzle, but with light ice."

"You call yourself an art student? It doesn't even have sprinkles."

"Then get it with sprinkles." He didn't care, he was drinking it either way since he'd endured the drive, miraculously survived it despite the danger Bill invited their way; he might as well get something good out of the experience, even if that was an inadequate reward for what he'd put up with.

Bill scowled at him. " _I'm_  not the art student here. It's not my job to make a complicated drink."

"Alright, alright. Have an extra dose of espresso and milk added, but the milk needs to be non-fat soy milk, and the syrups should be sugar-free. Is  _that_ complicated enough for you?"

"Sure, cutie." Dipper could hear him mutter under his breath before he relayed the order to the screen. "And throw een a Russiano vith three extra shots ov espresso."

To his horror, his tone mimicked that of an incredibly poor Russian accent as he ordered what was presumably an Americano, and Dipper shot Bill a death glare in an attempt to get him to stop that. "What are you  _doing_?" he hissed.

"Just orderving cofve, da."

Annoyed, Dipper combed his fingers through his hair but could see he wasn't going to get anywhere with Bill. "Instead of putting extra espresso in it, order another one. The drink is already shots of espresso diluted with water." And if he instead only got one drink with the  _three_ extra shots, he was probably going to be wired by the time he was finished drinking it.

"Nyet. Don't tell me what to do, Hipster Tree." He was relieved he wasn't speaking with Putin anymore, at least. Peeking a glance at the screen with their orders, he saw it was a mile long and again internally apologized to the poor souls tasked with making that.

Once the employee confirmed their order was correct on the screen, Dipper could hear them attempt to say the total… but Bill was already slamming the gas, their car shooting forth to the window.

"Is this the reason nobody else will go out for coffee with you?" And doubled as why he had to resort to taking Dipper.

There was a pause on Bill's end. "Nyet, thev—" There he went again with the accent.

"Stop that right now. My brain cells are dying just listening to you."

"Zachem?" Bill was smirking.

Although he had no idea what he said, he turned away and muttered, "You're giving me a headache."

The golden asshole of Miami snickered. "I can make you feel better, cutie. All ya gotta do is spread those pretty legs of yours." The cashier opened the window as Bill spoke, but he didn't seem fazed as he exchanged a twenty for the coffees. "Hey cutie, yours came out looking like a hot mess. Must take after you."

"I'm a hot mess and you love it." Snatching the coffee from him, Dipper gave it a couple quick stirs, wondering what the hot mess of a drink would taste like. Well, more like cold mess since it was iced—

"...Nyet." The hesitance surprised Dipper and he watched as Bill took a sip of the Americano, grimacing slightly. Probably burned his stupid mouth.

"How's your Russiano?" Dipper couldn't do it with a straight face as he remembered Bill switching into the bad accent halfway through ordering the drinks. "God, I hate you. I can't believe you did that." Miami people. Luckily, Bill had given the employees more than enough for the drinks  _and_ tipped since he'd noticed he didn't bother retrieving the change.

The poor accent making a return, he said, "Delicious, you vant to try sum?"

"I have regrets." He definitely regretted starting the accent thing over again.

"Try your coffee, sugar." Oh thank god it was over. "Tell me if I need to shoot the cashier."

Dipper's eyes went wide, and he shook his head because although he didn't think Bill would seriously threaten him anymore, he wasn't quite so sure with other people. Looking over the drink, he held it up to examine the light brown liquid finished with a generous amount of whipped topping and sprinkles, the latter courtesy of Bill. "It's not the cashier's fault this drink is going to give me diabetes."

"You ordered it, cutie. If you get diabetes I'll take you to the hospital but some doctors might die."

"Alright," he exhaled, "so clearly that's not an option. You need to be kinder to your fellow doctors." Dipper brought the drink to his lips and took a sip, greeted by the familiar flavor of sickeningly sweet caramel and chocolate with a dash of coffee. It wasn't the strongest drink, unlike what Bill was chugging down. Ultimately, it was just… very sweet, but nonetheless tasty with its abundance of caramel and chocolate.

Bill chuckled. "Those suckers haven't done shit for me."

"Maybe because you need a psychologist, not a general practitioner."

"Nah, my last psychologist tried to get too personal."

"Too personal?" His eyebrows shot up, and he took another drink before continuing, "I didn't know you had any sense of  _too personal_." Bill had been kissing his face, smacking his ass, as well as making sexual advances toward him, and they'd been acquainted for just over a week.

Bill shrugged. "Yeah, I had to put him down," upon seeing Dipper's look of horror, he must've mistaken that for confusion since he went on with euphemisms, "euthanize him, fill the guy with San Andreas quiet pills, terminate his contract with life, you know, pop his clo—"

"I  _knew_ what you meant the first time!"

"It was a sweet sound, like a death melody. Music to my ears."

Dipper gave Bill a distressed look, hoping he was just being morbid again rather than honest about that, but regardless he didn't want to hear any more. Nervously, his fingertips tapped on the side of the plastic cup and he drank from it again, burying his attention in the coffee instead as he tried to unhear everything in the last ten seconds.

"Don't look so mortified, cutie." Bill took a sip of his coffee. "He deserved it. Hey, is your coffee really that sweet?"

"On a scale from you to me, it is definitely as sweet as me."

"I'd like a taste."

"Of me or the coffee?"

"Yes."

Whatever getting a taste of him entailed, he wasn't going to participate. "You'll have to settle for the coffee."

Bill smiled at him. "Come on, sugar. It tastes best from the lips."

"I'd just bite you." ...Oh. Damn. Bill was probably into that.

"Do it, please."

Sigh.

But interestingly, he wasn't convinced he'd ever hear the word 'please' from Bill Cipher again, and he looked at him in sheer curiosity, wishing he could determine how badly he wanted this or if he was simply joking. In the end, it didn't make a difference since he wasn't going to get a kiss, and he offered the coffee by placing it in the cupholder between them, "This isn't your once a year day," a snarky  _Pajama Game_ reference, "so just the coffee for now."

Bill's smile dropped in an instant and was replaced with a frighteningly blank expression. His words were steely, "I'm going to drive this car over a bridge and kill us both."

"Do you want to at least try the coffee first?" Dipper asked with a tilt of his head. "It's delicious, so if you're not going to drink it, let me finish it before you kill us."

"I don't know. I have a strong urge to take us both out immediately. You like semis, kid?" Bill took the iced coffee anyway, taking a sip through the straw. "Good stars, this is like a sugary supernova in my mouth."

"Ha," it sounded breathless, frightened even to his own ears, "don't do that. That'd be… violent." Death by semi— they'd both be unrecognizably mangled. Recalling the conversation leading up to this, he went on, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but honestly, I think I'd rather kiss you than die like that."

Bill's eyes brightened with an intrigued, dangerous glimmer. "So you're saying… if I drove this car toward a semi, you'd kiss me to get me to stop?"

Dipper swallowed, still fidgeting anxiously, "I'm not sure when I'd have time for that between the screaming and panic."

"I hope you're ready to pucker up then, cutie." Bill's foot lingered dangerously close to the gas.

" _Bill_ ," he growled, tinged with fear because while he didn't  _think_ Bill would do it… every time, this weirdo managed to surprise him with something he could never possibly predict in a million years so he wasn't taking any chances.

His body shook in silent laughter, hand reaching to swap drinks with his Americano. "Relax, cutie. I'm not going to drive into a fucking semi."

"I don't know with you!" Dipper snapped, frustrated as he picked up his own coffee, gulping a few more sips as if that would quell the anxious feelings from a moment ago. "One second you're talking about murder and  _threatening_ me when I have no idea if you'll go through with it, and then you're laughing." He didn't get it, and it was so very stressful.

"Sugar," Bill's voice softened, "you need to relax, okay? I told you before I wasn't going to hurt you, didn't I?" A pause. "If I didn't, I meant to."

"Oh, right." Dipper sarcastically continued, "you'll have to remind me — was that before or after you put a bullet five inches from my head?"

"Ah, but it didn't actually touch you! I kept my word, cutie."

"That was intentional? And here I was under the impression that blue spot in your eye messed with your aim."

Bill slammed on the brakes, and Dipper jolted forward, almost spilling the remainder of his coffee. "Don't talk about my eye, kid." Dipper still found it fascinating, just as he had the first night at the penthouse. It was interesting to look at, a change of pace from his otherwise-amber eyes and sort of striking in a way.

For a couple long seconds, Dipper fell silent while he examined the eye in question, Bill staring straight ahead at the road, posture stiff. The eyelid of the bicolored one twitched, like he knew it was being watched. Finally, he spoke, "I don't  _see_ why it bothers you." At least Bill could have a taste of his own medicine with the poorly-timed pun.

His eyes darkened and he stomped on the gas, surging forward. Their vehicle's speed was creeping up, going from fifty-five, to seventy, inching to ninety in what felt like only a few moments. It didn't help that Bill was swerving between the lines, going from one lane to another. The fishtailing was getting  _horrendous_ , worse each time, like they were going to spin out any second. " _Dude_!" Dipper squealed, fear flooding him. "What are you doing?!" Did he  _want_ them to die? Fingers scraping uselessly for purchase against the dashboard as he tried to find something to cling to, his heart was beating out of control. Feeling as if he was going to be sick from the sudden starting and stopping and now the increasing speed, he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut and just hope death wasn't soaring toward them at sixty miles per hour.

Bill's laugh was bitter and short. "I'm driving,  _cutie_. Can't  _you_   _see_ that?" This reaction was extreme if he was referencing his earlier pun. "I told you not to talk about my eye, Pine Tree. I shouldn't  _have_  to elaborate."

Dipper didn't care about his eye, not right now, far more concerned with meeting an early demise. "Fucking  _slow down_!" he snapped, voice cracking. Eyes still tightly closed, he didn't have to see to know the world was rushing around them as they propelled down the road at what had to be one hundred miles per hour. The Cadillac's engine whined from the speed.

"Fucking  _fine_." It wasn't noticeable at first, but Bill must have taken his foot off the gas since their vehicle lost a significant amount of speed, convincing Dipper to crack an eye open to notice they were no longer swerving and drove safely in one lane. The fish-tailing had subsided, the car wasn't weaving around like a ship rocking on waves, and a sigh of relief escaped him.

Since they were no longer barreling toward an early grave, the shaking subsided after a few minutes of silence between them, said silence ended by a tentative question: "Why do you have such an issue with it? It's… it's nice. Your eye, I mean."

"I hate it." The bitterness hadn't faded from his voice. "It's a blight in a sea of gold. It  _ruined_  them and you keep bringing attention to that… that  _stain_." His hands tightened around the steering wheel, though the vehicle remained steady.

"You bring attention to my stain," Dipper reminded him through a mumble. "But I'm not sure why you think of it like that. Yours is actually… I don't know, um, appealing?" Not just a freakish birthmark, as his was.

Bill scoffed. "It's different. Your stain is interesting, unique, it  _means_  something. Mine's just an eye that had a pigment stroke and now I'm fucked unless I cut it out."

Although he tried so,  _so hard_ to keep a poker face through that, he couldn't manage to silence the small laugh at Bill's wording. "A pigment stroke," he repeated, finding he kind of liked that. "Can I tell you another joke?"

"Is it going to make me want to drive into another vehicle at ninety miles per hour?"

Shifting uneasily, Dipper hoped not but decided he might as well tell it anyway. "Alright so, three nuns are sitting on a bench, enjoying a day in the park. And this flasher comes by, opens his trench coat, and two of the nuns have a stroke." He held back a laugh. "The third one couldn't reach."

He watched Bill also fail to maintain a stoneface, breaking into laughter and Dipper grinned, glad Bill had found some amusement in the joke. "You need to stay off the internet, kid. It's ruining your innocence."

"Wanted me to save that for our wedding night, huh?"

"I thought that was what your virginity's for."

Dipper felt his cheeks warm slightly but didn't respond to that, back to thinking about Bill's eye, the eye he seemed to have a deeply-ingrained hate for that he couldn't really understand. There was nothing  _wrong_ with it. "Can I tell you something gay?" Not a joke this time, but a compliment.

Bill glanced at him. "Is this when you confess your undying love to me, and how you want to run away and elope? Or will it make me want to drive into another vehicle?"

"Uh," he thought about the options provided, "...yes?" Probably the latter, but he wasn't about to tell Bill that.

"Christ."

"Your eye is pretty." It was a soft confession. Wincing in anticipation, he already knew Bill likely didn't want to hear that and braced himself for a potentially-endangering reaction.

He watched as he visibly tensed, a growl in his throat. "I told you to not talk about that. I want to  _cut it out and burn it_ , not have this impurity be complimented."

After a second, the car's speed was picking up again, and Dipper tensed, their surroundings going by faster and faster until they were reaching speeds he definitely wasn't comfortable with as they passed vehicles in quick succession. The engine whining was getting loud again while Bill was dodging traffic with a practiced albeit anxiety-inducing grace, and all Dipper could do was stare in absolute horror as they swerved abruptly, almost side-swiping into a semi, eliciting a shrill gasp from him that silenced the plea to go slower. They'd been so close that if the window had been down, he could've reached out and touched it with no issue but the somehow the only thing he could think about was how the rush of adrenaline had him shaking. Yet Bill—

Bill wasn't slowing down, didn't even seem to notice or care, meanwhile Dipper felt like he was dying, felt the familiar rise of panic in him, building much too fast to be healthy and oh god he was probably going to have a heart attack if the inevitable collision didn't get to them first. " _Holy shit_! Stop for— for a  _second_ ," Dipper's pleading voice wavered wildly, strained from how impossibly  _cramped_ his chest seemed, like he couldn't even breathe. He'd gone from thinking they were going to die to being okay, then back to panicking in a matter of minutes. He was stiff with fear, knuckles white where they clutched at the dashboard, and he wasn't sure his heart could take this.

"Sure, cutie." Bill finally listened and hit the brakes, causing their vehicle to skid on the road. He turned the tires to put them on the shoulder.

Although at a stop, he fought to get his breathing under control and clutched at his chest since it felt beyond constricted, like he couldn't possibly get enough oxygen through his system and was going to pass out. Doubling over in pain, he huffed and puffed raggedly as he attempted to recollect himself.

Bill took a sip of his coffee. "Having fun over there, sugar? It's like I took your breath away with my mad driving skills."

Dipper didn't have the energy to deal with his shit and turned away with disinterest, too busy fighting down the still-bubbling panic. It was like his body lacked an appropriately-timed off switch for anxiety after he'd started having those horrible nightmares, but he tried to clear the thoughts away in favor of focusing on simply breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all Tuesday for the next update / part two of this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's for Bendy's Sister, Piqued Penguin, and Benrito - thanks for your comments, we intend on replying but just haven't had time.

"Shall I take that as a yes?"

It was several minutes before he could even uncurl, much less respond. Resting his weight against the door, Dipper stared at Bill owlishly with a frown bringing his lips downwards. He didn't even know what to say to him after that but was rethinking future outings with Bill, unless somebody else was going to drive them. "Y'know," he sighed gently, letting out a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and glanced away, "I thought… the night my parents died would be the last near-death experience I'd have for a while." Obviously he couldn't have been more wrong.

Bill shook his head. "That was hardly a near death experience, cutie. You're perfectly safe."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I just don't feel like it when I'm with you." Eye contact was nonexistent, as his preference was to stare out the window at the many stars glittering above them in a dusty dark blue sky. Stargazing was significantly nicer when they weren't moving too fast for comfort while their car fishtailed uncontrollably down the roads of Los Santos, nearly hitting a semi truck in the process.

"You should." Bill followed his gaze to the sky. "They're nice, aren't they?"

Ignoring his comment about the stars, frustration flared within Dipper. "I  _should_? You've gone out of your way to make me panic and think we're going to die." It wasn't even the first of his offenses: he'd had him over the balcony railing a few times, he'd shot the sofa he laid on, he'd put a pistol to his head.

"Yes,  _but_  no harm has come upon you once." While technically true in the physical sense, that didn't make it any better since it messed with his mental state, forcing him into total panics. "You need to  _relax,_  cutie, and enjoy the stars." And with that he exited the vehicle, leaving Dipper to his thoughts.

Enjoying the stars seemed impossible when he was with Bill, of all people, because he could barely avoid having an anxiety attack for an hour, relaxing was out of the question. Finishing off the last of his coffee, he fell into silence for a while as his gaze flicked from the stars to the busy roads of Los Santos, wishing he was home instead of here. Well, whatever home was now, but a thought from earlier occurred to him: home was with Mabel. Hands still shaking, he texted her:

 **(9:29 PM)** Are you back yet?

 **(9:29 PM)**   _Yes! :)_

 **(9:30 PM)** You sound happy. I'm guessing everything went okay?

 **(9:30 PM)**   _It's still happening! ;)_

 **(9:30 PM)**   _I'm glad you went out with Bill tonight!_

 **(9:30 PM)**   _I get some alone time with Pacifica~_

 **(9:31 PM)** Not going to think about that too hard and just assume you're snuggling and watching tv

 **(9:31 PM)** Being with Bill has been a wreck, mostly

 **(9:31 PM)**   _Oh, we're getting cozy on the couch alright! ;) ;)_

 **(9:31 PM)**   _Your date didn't go too well?_

 **(9:32 PM)** Still isn't a date, but yeah that's fair to say

 **(9:32 PM)** "Too well" is giving it too much credit actually

 **(9:32 PM)**   _Sounds like a bad date to me!_

 **(9:32 PM)**   _You should try to make it better!_

Dipper looked out the window of the vehicle and trained his eyes on the dim outline of Bill, who was leaning back on his hands, staring at the sky. He had no interest in talking to that man.

 **(9:33 PM)** He's sitting in the ditch like a weirdo

 **(9:33 PM)**   _You should talk to him!_

 **(9:34 PM)**  I don't know

 **(9:34 PM)**   _Are you going to be okay without me? We can talk later or if you want we can call_

 **(9:35 PM)** Yeah, I'll be okay

 **(9:35 PM)**   _Text/call if you need anything, Dipdop! :)_

 **(9:35 PM)**  I will. We can talk later <3

 **(9:35 PM)**   _See you later Dippy! <3_

Several minutes passed since he'd put down his phone, trying to recollect his scattered thoughts but arriving at the conclusion that he was ready to return to the penthouse. Dipper could no longer see Bill in the dark– he'd moved outside the boundary of the headlights. If he squinted, he thought he could see a faint orange glow. Undoubtedly a cigarette.

Though he still didn't want to talk to him, he didn't have much choice if he wanted to get going. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dipper left the car and soon spotted Bill sitting in the grass, smoking confirmed. As he approached, he noted that it was strange because he seemed to only do it when stressed but… he had no idea what would've shaken him tonight.

Dipper claimed a spot next to him, sitting with his legs folded, quiet for a couple moments as he tried to think of something to say. It felt like the words were lost in translation between them half the time, resulting in an outcome that neither saw coming. Bill seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but all Dipper could do was notice the blue spot in his golden eyes, the same splotch that'd caused most of tonight's mess in the first place. No matter what Bill told him, he still thought it was nice, for lack of a better word.

And besides, he didn't really want to think about liking Bill's eyes — that was dancing on the edge of strange, but then again he was an art student, he could appreciate odd beauty without it being weird.

Bill must have noticed him looking because he grimaced and beckoned to the sky. "Stars are up there, cherry."

Dipper was a little sheepish about being called out but was relieved that Bill didn't seem upset this time. He was tempted to reply that he could see them just fine, staring for a second longer and actually enjoying the way he could pick out tiny sparks of light flickering in the depths of amber and blue, but what he was doing caught up with him and he averted his gaze. He shifted so he was turned away, facing the street, but leaned his weight against Bill. "Your eyes are still nice."

"You're not helping the urge to cut it out right now," Bill quietly muttered. "You need to stop being such a fucking fairy fag. It's not good for your health."

That was harsher than he'd thought it'd be, and he peered at him for a moment. "For someone who wanted a kiss like thirty minutes ago, you've really turned off the charm."

Bill scowled. "You turned off the charm when you decided I was the root of all your trauma and then fucked around with my eye."

"Literally none of that happened."

"Yes, it  _did_. Stop that."

Bristling at the false accusations but overall curious, he wondered aloud, "Stop  _what_?"

"Acting like  _that_."

Brushing a hand through his hair, Dipper truthfully didn't know what he was doing, or how he could stop that. Whatever  _that_ was. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"You keep looking at my eye, and you're acting like being with me is the end of the world. If you don't want to hang out with me, fucking  _don't_." Something in Bill's voice cracked. He sounded nearly wrecked.

Startled, Dipper hadn't the faintest idea where any of that came from but felt his annoyance drain exceedingly fast. "I'm… I'm not looking at you, remember?" Dipper had been facing the other way, eyes trained on the road for the near entirety of their conversation. "And um, I guess I could've gone without almost hitting a semi, but being with you is… is always something."

Bill didn't seem bothered by this new revelation. "You have peripherals," he pressed sadly. "You can see it through those. Watching it, 'admiring' it, but knowing it's an ugly blotch that can only be eradicated by killing the eye entirely."

"It's not," he argued hotly despite hearing Bill sigh, "and I'd never forgive you if you got rid of it. It's..." unique, interesting, "probably the best thing about you." The tiny blue splotch didn't bring him any harm or threaten him.

"Couldn't you preserve it in a glass jar if you liked it so much?"

"It wouldn't be part of you anymore, so I  _could_  but then it'd just be some eye in a jar. Also, a little creepy." When he shuddered, he wasn't sure if it was at the thought or if it was due to the light breeze rolling in, a cooler night fully enveloping Los Santos. Even his plaid shirt and jeans weren't enough to keep him completely warm as he sat leaning against Bill in the ditch.

Bill went silent for a moment. "Your obsession with it is a little creepy."

"In a way," he started, "you're the one with the obsession." The one overly concerned with it, constantly thinking about it, the paranoia that surrounded anybody looking at it… the insecurity, which he could genuinely relate to since he had a birthmark he wasn't quite proud of. "But I'll take that as you don't want me to compliment it anymore..?"

"I don't  _want_  it," he told him. "I'd rather shoot my brains out than have it be looked at."

Dipper wished he could look but didn't dare turn around, so he settled on the familiar warning, "You don't wanna shoot yourself, that'll hurt like hell." The last time he'd heard it, it was Bill telling him not to jump.

"Then I'll fucking stab my eye out."

"Not better," he muttered. Perhaps worse, the imagery it evoked was disturbing.

"You clearly haven't been eye fucked before."

Dipper craned his neck to look at Bill, raising an eyebrow. "Then what do you call those looks you give me?"

Bill was looking back at him. "Premeditated murder."

"You're sure taking your sweet time," he noted as he turned away again, "after all the chances you've had. And we're on the side of the road at night, why not make a move?"

"Don't. Tempt. Me." The way he shifted against him, he could feel Bill turning his head away. "Why are you so frustrating? You frequently make me want to drive off a cliff."

" _I'm_ frustrating," he repeated, a bitter laugh tumbling from him at the irony. "You think  _I'm frustrating_?" Bill was the epitome of frustrating, but Dipper didn't comment and instead just pulled his knees to his chest to preserve his body heat while he shook his head. "Tell you what, I'll stop talking to you and then you won't have to worry about it ever again, or drive off any cliffs."

That seemed to shut him up for a moment. "No." It was quiet, and Dipper could hardly hear him. "I just want you to stop looking at my eye."

"I'm not even looking at  _you_ , man. Chill out." He wasn't sure why Bill was so caught up on this when he had barely seen him for the last ten minutes, attention having been on the road and stars. "Do you need to blindfold me or something?"

There was a pause, and Dipper felt a cold shiver of fear as he sensed where this was going. "Yes. Let me get the trunk open."

In hindsight, probably shouldn't have suggested that but he still let out a breathless, "Okay." Wasn't like he could retract the offer now, but he was kicking himself for being so stupid.

"Wow, you'd actually let me? Or is this one of those things where you'd flail around like a noodle on a plate?"

"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess I wouldn't fight you too hard." He'd been the one to suggest it and now was just digging himself deeper if Bill was serious about this. "I mean… whatever makes you comfortable, right?" His sole condition was that Bill  _also_ had to behave, if he was about to be blindfolded.

"I'm not going to blindfold you, kid. Well, not yet at least." Dipper exhaled in relief. Being blindfolded on the side of a road in Los Santos—the city of crime—was pushing it, especially after the stunt with the semi. His trust in Bill had been rattled. "But, we are leaving. This field sucks for stargazing. Come on, cutie." Bill moved to get up, Dipper scrambling to join him. He was glad they would be getting out of here.

"Wait," he said once he'd straightened up and brushed himself off. With Bill paused in his tracks and looking at him questioningly, Dipper took the opportunity to rebutton his vest, the same buttons he'd undone earlier in a search for suspenders. "If you went back to the penthouse like that, Stan would probably think we left to get it on in your car."

Bill faintly chuckled. "Don't act like that's a bad thing, cutie."

Dipper wasn't sure which one was being referred to. "Getting it on in your car or Stan thinking that? He was really specific about not… doing anything with each other."

"Yes." Once the buttons were finished, Bill headed toward his car, tossing the Americano cup into the grass. Dipper watched the motion, instantly annoyed by the lack of consideration for the environment, so caught up that he almost didn't hear what Bill said: "Stan doesn't care, kid. Trust me."

Dipper's fingers twitched as the cup was carelessly discarded, picking it up on his way to the passenger seat with the intention of throwing it away (properly) later, along with the other coffee cup that remained in the cupholder.

"Pine Tree, don't put that trash in my car." Bill had gotten in the driver's seat, turning his vehicle on. "Throw it back in the grass where it belongs."

Ignoring the request, Dipper joined him in the vehicle, getting comfortable in the passenger seat but making no move to resume Bill's practice of littering. "You can't tell me what to do, I'm an art student and also a hipster apparently." Complete with sticking his tongue out at Bill.

"I can kick you out of my car and leave you stranded on the side of the road. Your choice,  _art student_."

With raised eyebrows, Dipper knew he was pushing it as he reclined in the seat, kicking his legs up to put them on the dashboard. The engine was killed after a second, Bill moving from the driver's seat and going to the other side of the vehicle, throwing open the passenger door.

"Hi,  _cutie_ ," Dipper greeted sarcastically, still painfully aware he was treading a dangerous line but not sure what Bill would do about it. Hopefully, he wouldn't pull a gun on him again. Anything else would be an improvement.

But he hadn't thought Bill would grab him by his arm and yank him through the door, eliciting a squeal of surprise and pain from Dipper. Bill released him onto the ground, Dipper's body making contact with the cold pavement. "Cosmos, I didn't think your noodle arm would snap because I touched it."

Slightly dazed since he hadn't been expecting the sudden show of force (much less expecting Bill to actually cause him pain), he shook himself out of it and got back to his feet, rubbing at where his arm was sore — merely touching it, in Bill's words, was a bit of an understatement when he'd  _pulled_ him from the car. But despite the scuffle, he stubbornly held on to the cup, unwilling to let him make a bigger mess of an already-polluted city.

"You're not putting that trash in my car," Bill told him. "If you're so insistent on keeping it, you can walk. Good luck finding your way back without getting hit."

"Better than being with you," he said sourly, brushing past Bill to begin walking with a hand continuing to clutch his injured arm. Although he still didn't want to litter, it was more about the principle of it, the determination to show he wasn't going to be pushed around by Bill and was capable of navigating the city of his own. He'd lived here his entire life, he could do this.

The next thing he knew, Bill's car was beside him, the smug asshole driving slowly to match his pace. Bill waved at him, rolling the window down.

Giving him a hollow glance, Dipper turned on his heels and started heading the opposite direction, didn't care that it'd be going the wrong way, but the car started reversing, catching up to his side once more. "Cutie, don't get all huffy with me."

Oh, he would be huffy with Bill as long as he damn well pleased for everything that'd happened tonight. But he was at his wit's end and stopped to ask, "What are you doing, anyway? Just go find another field to stargaze in and leave me alone." Dipper had thought that was the point, to make him struggle for a way back to the penthouse, and there was no way he wouldn't rise to the occasion given the circumstances.

Bill's dark eyes were locked onto him, his head leaning slightly to a side. "I was going to drive around the city instead and wanted to see if you'd tag along, instead of pout on a shoulder. It's stunning at night."

Dipper didn't think he'd be able to enjoy the views of the evening, not with Bill. And speaking of shoulders, his ached after being manhandled and colliding with the pavement. "Hah, no. Still not convinced that being ran over wouldn't be a nicer fate."

He watched Bill's expression twist into something similar to anger but couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion. "Come on, stop being such a fucking white knight. It's not my fault you  _insisted_  on bringing garbage into my car."

Tersely, he replied, "If you wanted me to accompany you, you shouldn't have pulled me out of your car."

"You shouldn't have disregarded my request to leave the trash in the grass." Now he could clearly identify the building anger, Bill looking like he wanted to get out and attack him again. Some gentleman he was, the reassurances from before almost humorous in retrospect.

"Just trying to lessen your karmic debt." Dipper rolled his eyes and continued walking, this time in the correct direction, uninterested in carrying on the conversation when it didn't seem to be getting them anywhere.

"If I wanted that lessened, I'd kill myself here and now."

Dipper gave a bitter reminder, "You almost  _did_ kill us." The incident with the semi wasn't lost on him.

"If we were almost killed, there'd be a hell of a lot more damage to the car. Now, get in before I fucking make you by tying you to the seat. I have rope in the trunk." Any traces of patience in Bill's voice had disappeared.

"You can give the threats a rest, I know you won't make me." Maybe a bold claim to make to an unpredictable mess of a man, but he didn't think Bill could or would physically  _force_ him into the car — if he got back in, it would be through his own decision.

Bill didn't budge to get out of his car and 'make him get in' like he threatened. As expected. "Would you like me to call Stan? I'm sure Big Daddy would appreciate knowing how reckless  _you're_  being right now."

"What, are you going to tattle on your  _heterosexual life partner_?" The words were venomous.

"If that gets your sorry ass in the car, yes. Don't make me fucking come out there." Bill didn't wait for him to respond or react, already starting to get out of the vehicle. "Or I can walk back with you. You'll probably end up getting a piggyback ride on me with how noodly and weak you are."

"Wow, if I didn't know better I'd say you actually cared a bit." Good thing he  _did_ know better.

"Yeah, if I wanted you dead on the shoulder I'd just run you over myself." Dipper thought about how Bill had already injured him, might as well finish the job. "Now get in or I'll get the fucking rope. You have until I count to three. One."

He didn't stop walking along the side of the road, didn't even look at Bill though he knew he was starting his stupid countdown.

"Two."

"Fuck off."

Dipper could hear the trunk pop open, and finally spared him a glance, just in time to see Bill reaching in to pull out a coil of rope. "Fine, be like that. Three."

Gaze flicking between Bill and the rope, he stared in disbelief. With Bill, he knew he shouldn't be surprised, but he had a strange way of keeping him on his toes between making true threats and just talking out of his ass. It was hard to tell which were which, sometimes. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"No. Get in the fucking car, Pine Tree." Bill stepped toward him, extending the rope.

Dipper flinched, trying to back up. "Don't touch me," he snarled. "Haven't you already done enough damage tonight?" His shoulder was still aching, the throb only becoming slightly less noticeable but he recognized that rope wouldn't do it good.

Bill scoffed. "You wouldn't have been hurt if you  _listened_  to me for once."

That little urge to punch him returned, but he knew better than to act on it: Bill would catch his fist since there was nothing to divert his attention, and his hands were occupied as it was with one holding a cup and the other holding an injury. "You promised you weren't going to hurt me. Why should I listen to you?" It'd been the only stability in their fucked up relationship, Bill's reassurance that he wouldn't harm him, and even that was gone.

"I didn't  _want_  to hurt you." Bill's voice was filled with annoyance. "I just wanted you to listen to me. I didn't think you'd flop to the ground like a fish out of water."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have roughly grabbed me and thrown me out? Giving me bruises isn't going to earn my respect  _or_ my obedience." But whether that was what Bill wanted was questionable, not that he cared to give it any thought right now.

Bill glowered at him, a hand running over the fabric of the rope idly. "What do you want from me, kid? It's in the past. Your arm's going to be fine."

It would, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell right now. Pavement wasn't the kindest landing. "That's everything with you. You do something fucked up and brush it off because it was  _in the past_." But Dipper had his fill of standing on the side of the road, done with this — it wasn't getting them anywhere. "So Buffalo Bill, are you going to tie me up or can I continue walking back?"

"Get in the car, kid, or I'll tie you up and throw you in the trunk." The rope had been pulled into a loop, which he twirled between his fingers.

Uninterested in wasting any more time with this argument and having doubts Bill would go through with it despite everything, Dipper begrudgingly got in the car, stiffly taking his place in the passenger seat but keeping his eyes forward.

"That's what I thought," Bill spoke as he joined him in the car shortly after, tossing the rope in the backseat. "Throw out the cup, kid."

"Or what, you'll throw  _me_ out again? Can you at least hurt the other shoulder this time to spread out the injuries a little?"

"Nah, I'll just run you over. I'll tell Stan you committed suicide."

Sounding agitated, Dipper said, "I'm throwing it away in a trash can, not a ditch."

"Why can't you just  _throw it back out the window_  and save  _everyone_  some fucking time?"

"Because I  _try_ to be a decent person, but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that." Dipper was sick of this, regretting his decision to get back in and wishing he would've walked. "Do you realize  _you_ wasted our time? None of  _your_ time would have been wasted if you just relaxed for once and didn't pull me out of the car."

"My time was wasted the second you decided you were holier than thou and needed to pick my cup up from the grass."

He wanted to smack his forehead in frustration. "That's what this is about?" He couldn't  _believe_ how childish Bill was. "If you want to be a better person, then be one."

"Don't tell me what to do, Pine Boy."

Dipper spared him a scathing look. "Wasn't going to waste my breath. You won't change."

"I don't  _need_  to change, unlike you. Everything about you is just a desperate attempt of fitting in because you don't belong anywhere. Especially now that you can't hide behind your  _mommy_  and  _daddy_."

When combined with the storm of grief that he was still working through, that comment had cut deep, and it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Words didn't come to him. He just… didn't know what to do except look away and try to ignore this— try to hang on to himself and avoid falling apart until he could be alone in the penthouse with his thoughts or spill them to Mabel, but he realized he didn't want to bring her mood down after her wonderful date. Dipper's hand ghosted over the door handle as he considered what Bill had said, did he really not fit in anywhere?

It didn't feel like it. Particularly compared to his sister, who was a social chameleon and just so damn likable no matter what she did and then there was  _him_ and he was…

Dipper didn't want to think about that. His fingers twitched against the metal.

Bill had gone silent, having thrown the car back into drive but no longer speeding like his life depended on it, for once taking the limit into consideration. Dipper watched as the city lights passed them by, bleeding together into a heap of multi-colored blobs, and he rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness.

"I didn't mean that," Bill finally spoke after an eternity. "You're not a black sheep, kid. Stan and Ford really like you, and I know Wendy and Dr. Soos think you're cool."

No.

No, no, no.

Bill wasn't going to win his forgiveness like that, by trying a feeble attempt at backpedaling. It didn't matter that it was  _in the past_ , the damage was done.

Dipper silently shook his head, because while he… did appreciate that, maybe, he didn't think it meant anything coming from Bill, the guy who would lie whenever it convenienced him. He knew better than to blindly accept that. A long sigh escaped him and he mumbled defeatedly, "You can't just do that, y'know? And expect things to be fine between us." At every turn, when they were starting to be okay again, it felt like something happened to tear them apart.

Giving him a pained look, he saw Bill wore an expression of confusion. "I don't see why they wouldn't be, Pine Tree."

"You really don't know," it wasn't accustory, just sad. "You almost killed us and brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal. You freaked out on me, dragged me out of your car," his shoulder still stung from the impact, "and left me to walk. Then, basically demanded I get back in your car. If that wasn't enough, you… you told me I didn't—" he stopped, feeling a little choked. "It's stressful.  _You're_ stressful."

"Life's stressful, cutie."

"Yeah, the trick is to surround yourself with people who make it better, not ten times worse." He couldn't deal with this on top of everything else that was making his life a wreck.

Bill's fingers tapped the wheel. "So. You're stating everything tonight is my fault. You said 'you did this' about six times."

That was the part he'd heard, out of everything he said? Dipper wondered if he was listening to the important issues at hand or if he was just tallying their mistakes and comparing them, as if trying to find who was the worse of the two. Dipper knew he could've been more eloquent about the way he'd phrased it, but those things  _had been_ Bill's doing. Even so, he conceded, "Fine. What was my fault tonight?"

"You fucked with my bowtie, my eye, and brought garbage into my car. Then blatantly disobeyed my request to remove it from the vehicle, instead opting to put your feet on my dashboard."

And he was half-tempted to do that again, maybe would have if he didn't feel so drained, so tired of this, knowing it would only cause further problems. "I didn't fuck with your eye, I told you it was nice." His reminder was cold. "But as for the rest—"

"My eye would be nicer if it was one color: gold."

And his life would be nicer if he had two parents, alive, and he wasn't sitting in a car with Bill Cipher. But they both were out of luck. "It still doesn't justify what you did."

"I  _barely_  touched your arm. It's not my fault you're so delicate."

He hadn't been specifically referring to that, though he didn't have the energy to bother correcting him and say he was talking about the rest as well. "You're trying to turn the blame on me," he pointed out but didn't know why he'd expected any better.

"No, I'm blaming that squishy skin of yours."

Dipper fell silent, knowing whatever he said would go unheard if Bill was convinced he didn't have to answer to his actions. It wasn't worth the fight when all it'd do is end in insurmountable frustration, so he allowed silence to compete with the tension between them. Dipper averted his gaze to watch the scenery again, counting the lampposts and feeling envious of the pedestrians since they walked with a happy obliviousness, wishing he could switch places with them. Palm trees, bright lights, dirty sidewalks, all was the same in Los Santos, and that felt weird after his life had changed so drastically.

Out of the corner of his eye Dipper could see Bill glancing at him. "What do you want me to do, Pine Tree? Leave you alone? It's..." For a moment, Bill seemed to be struggling for words. Amazing, but he didn't care. " _Incredibly_  difficult for me to not do anything you deem 'stressful', it seems."

"I know." Dipper swallowed a sigh, fed up with going in circles. "Maybe… maybe we should just stay away from each other."

"You think that'd work, cutie?" his laugh was quiet, almost sad.

Dipper curled in on himself, resting against the passenger door with a wince from the trickle of pain in his shoulder. "I don't think we're…" good for each other, but he shook the thought away, trying to offer something less bleak. "Dangerous situations are… stressful. Being threatened, getting hurt, all that is anxiety-inducing," it'd gotten harder to control after his parents' deaths, "and.. I get that it's difficult, so it's probably best if we…" he made a vague motion with his hands, "take Stan's advice."

"Take Stan's advice." When Bill repeated his words back, it sounded hollow, almost emotionless in nature. "Okay, Pine Tree. Whatever you want."

The implication didn't go unnoticed and he inquired, "What do you want?"

Bill's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "That doesn't matter, cutie. How… are you doing now?"

Dipper blinked because that… was different. Bill caring about how he was doing? They must've drove into another dimension somewhere along the line. A bit cautiously, he answered, "Well, I feel kind of cheated because every time I tell you I  _don't_ want to know about something, you just flat out say it anyway and now when I actually want your opinion, you won't give it to me."

"I'm going to stay away from you like  _you_  want, what more do you want from me?" There was no hiding the frustration in each word.

Frowning other's agitation, Dipper said, "I want you to tell me what you're thinking about."

His voice had grown quiet. "I don't like the thought of staying away. I find you… intriguing."

" _Entertaining_ ," Dipper corrected bitterly, recalling what Bill told him. "Like I'm some object to you."

"There's no one that challenges me like you do, it's refreshing… a change of pace that I don't look forward to losing. You may be entertaining to some degree, but you're more than an object." Bill lightly shrugged. "I get it. You can't  _handle_ me. No one can."

"Well, there's nothing special about me," Dipper murmured in response to Bill's claim that nobody else could handle him either, sounding sort of resigned since he recalled the countless situations they'd found themselves in, and he'd been forced to face through-the-roof anxiety as a result. The common denominator in every single one of those instances was him and Bill.

Bill kept his eyes on the road, humming softly. "Maybe not to you. But I guess it doesn't matter, you made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me, Pine Tree."

Dipper thought for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. "Can you tell me something true?" There was a fragile waver in the request; Dipper just wanted something genuine from him, not manipulated or made fun of or  _that smirk_ for once.

That seemed to strike a nerve in him. "I did. You're so set on me being a liar that you didn't listen to me." His voice grew quieter, dropping to a vulnerable murmur. "When I told you I found you fascinating, that wasn't a lie. You're one of the most interesting people I've met. There is... no one else in this world that is as real as you are. Stan and Ford are lifeless shadows when it comes to me because they hardly react, they put up with my shit and that's that. You don't."

It was probably one of the more earnest things Bill had ever said to him — not through the words, but how he'd said them, and Dipper was at a loss, unsure if he should be putting up his guard because Bill did have an extensive record of manipulating. Or if he should believe it. A risk he'd have to take, he supposed. "Okay," he said slowly, still trying to process most of that because it was… more than he'd thought he'd be getting out of Bill, not just tonight but ever. Figuring out what to say to that was an uphill battle when he'd never been good at this sort of thing. "Okay, uh… that— that was a lot." His hand nervously carded through his hair as he tried to sort his thoughts. "So you don't want to. Stay away, I mean."

"I don't. But it doesn't matter. You need to do what  _you're_  comfortable with, and that clearly isn't me."

"I wasn't really planning on doing you— sorry, bad time, huh? Um." Dipper coughed, nervous. Equally unafraid, but this was an unfamiliar situation that he had no idea how to navigate. "Look, most of tonight was alright… it was just, some things." Although hesitant, the tiniest of smiles touched his lips. "If we could cut down on the risky behavior by like, fifty percent, and the Russian accent by about one hundred, I think it'd be okay."

Bill spared him a glance. "From what you've said, it sounds like most of tonight has been a shitshow for ya, kid." Everything with Bill was a shitshow so it seemed relative. "Besides, I can't…  _half_  my impulsive behavior." He spared him a sideways look. "And vou can't stop moy asent." "

There was that shitty Russian accent again. "Oh god, it's like it's evolving to get  _worse_." Leaning back, Dipper sighed and told him, "I just don't want to constantly be on the verge of a panic attack when we're together, or always worried that you'll freak out over something like…" he glanced down at the hand that still held the coffee cup, "an empty cup."

"I  _hate_  trash in the car, kid. Just the thought is driving me fucking crazy."

"What about my cup?" Dipper asked, eyes focusing on the other empty coffee cup, the one his sugary abomination had come in.

At that, Bill shrugged. "That wasn't in the grass where it belonged, so technically it's not yet trash."

Something clicked, and he blurted out, "You're the reason the penthouse is ultra sterile." This revelation veered away from their discussion, but he hadn't been able to hold his tongue.

"Those heathens don't clean. Have you  _seen_ Stan's room? It's like a hurricane came through there."

"Uh… no. I haven't gone into anyone's bedroom, I don't even have my own bedroom anymore." But that wasn't particularly important right now, nor did he mind since Mabel and Pacifica were probably—

Nope.

He frowned and tried to stay on track. "You didn't have to have trash in here. I would've walked back." Giving it some thought, there was an almost-touching element to this, how Bill seemed to be willing to deal with the trash in favor of having him in the vehicle. "I don't mind getting rid of it, but can we not litter in the process?"

He seemed baffled by this. "Why not? Better out there, away from me, than in my car filthying it up."

Addressing the actual issue, he replied, "It's irresponsible, bad for the environment."

"No one gives two shits about the environment anymore, cutie."

" _I_  do." It was a habit that'd been instilled in him from a young age. Environmental consciousness was— _had been_ , he mentally corrected—important in his family, and he wasn't going to give that up just because his parents weren't around anymore.

"You should stop."

With a shake of his head, he replied, "Can't stop, won't stop." It was a good cause, and he didn't see why he should break a positive habit over keeping supposed trash out of Bill's car.

"Nothing you do will make a  _dipper_ ance, cutie."

"So you  _do_ know my name," he stated since he'd been starting to wonder with the terms of endearment, even if 'Dipper' was more of a nickname. In regards to the cringe-worthy pun, "That's lame, and you suck. Don't litter."

"A Pineboy once said can't stop, won't stop."

"Sucking or littering?"

Bill shot him a glare. "You're an avocado sucker and you should stop being a tree humper."

"I'm an  _avocado sucker_?" Dipper questioned, not even sure what that meant. He'd understood the tree humper part, though had been under the impression the phrase was 'tree  _hugger_.' But considering who he was talking to, he guessed it made sense.

"Yeah, you're a fucking avocado sucker. Get over it."

Dipper didn't quite get the intent. "Still don't know what that means."

Bill smirked. "San Andreas hipster can't figure it out. Surprising."

Oh. He was making fun of his home state. Slightly irate, Dipper remarked, "Your home state may as well list 'meth heads' as the official animal, and rename itself to Heaven's Waiting Room with how many old people there are."

"The slowness of the old people make life hell down there."

"That's rich," he commented bitingly, recalling the various suicidal thoughts expressed earlier. "Acting like your life wouldn't be hell regardless of where you are."

Bill shrugged. "My life is hell."

"You're always giving me shit for being miserable," for  _grieving_ over his parents, "look at you."

"I'd love to look at me," Bill dryly said. "I look good. Better than you, at least."

"Why? Can't stand seeing someone with just one eye color?" The snappish remark was out before he could bite it back.

"Fuck you, shit eye."

Dipper smiled a little, "Yeah, I kind of had that coming. I guess that means you don't think my eyes are striking and  _beautiful_?" He exaggeratedly batted his lashes at Bill, who was scowling, an expression of irritation etched onto his face.

"I should take scissors to those lashes. Snip, snip."

"Mm," he hummed, "but then I wouldn't look so pretty and feminine, and you wouldn't want to fuck me into the sofa. On second thought, go ahead."

"I'd love to. We'll break that sofa in." He winked at him, and Dipper instantly looked away, preferring to watch the road illuminated only by half-working street lamps roll by them, the gutters filthy with trash and leaves. They weren't on a main road anymore as they neared a more residential area, and Dipper wondered where Bill was taking them since they weren't anywhere close to the penthouse.

"I  _meant_ taking a scissors to my lashes," Dipper clarified rigidly, flushing. "And don't try to bullshit me, I'm sure you've had plenty of escapades on that sofa." From what Bill said about his previous sexual experiences, the implication was clear: there'd been a lot.

"Not  _that_  sofa. The sofa before, yes. Stan had to replace it after a threesome on it."

A threesome, he thought with mild amusement, one Bill was undoubtedly a participant in. "So, how did it feel disappointing two people at once?" Dipper snarkily asked.

"How does it feel to disappoint everyone you meet?" Bill retorted in a similar tone. "How did your parents not murder you in your sleep? They had power, they could've easily gotten away with it."

Dipper shrugged. "I guess they were just better at handling me than you are." And more importantly, he'd never been like this with them. He'd been respectful, always aiming to be a good son to them since they'd been good parents. The attitude was reserved for Bill.

He could see Bill's jaw clench, like he wanted to say something but was restraining himself. Impressive. "Sure they were." The car had turned into the parking lot of a convenience store.

"You're struggling," Dipper observed.

"Cutie, if I spoke my mind right now you'd be sobbing in your hands. Don't push me." He grabbed the rope in the backseat before he killed the engine, getting out of the car. Dipper, puzzled and worried by this, moved to exit the vehicle after him but was pulled back into his seat by a fastened seat belt, reawakening a previously dulled pain in his shoulder. Oops. Quickly releasing it, he left the car to trail after Bill with a yelp to wait for him.

Struggling to catch up, his eyes swept over Bill. "What's the rope for...?" A concerned question.

"Oh, cutie. You'll find out in a moment." Frown deepening at the non-explanation, that didn't clarify anything and all he could hope for was that they weren't about to rob the place. Bill paused by the door of the store, glancing back at Dipper, who was briefly stopping by a trash can since there was an opportunity to throw away the coffee cups — and not litter while doing so. "Hurry up, cutie. I know it's hard with those short legs of yours."

"Yeah, my short legs are really inconvenient. Remember what you were saying earlier, about how noodly and weak I am?" Arriving at his side, Dipper met his gaze, a subtle smirk on his lips. "I think I'm ready to cash in on that piggyback ride." Would be a bit hard to rob a convenience store with a Dipper on his back.

"Will you let me tie your wrists together?" Bill tugged the rope in his hands. "Only your wrists."

Caught off guard by the request, Dipper blinked.

Shifting from foot to foot, he cleared his throat to ask, "If I let you tie my wrists, I'll get the piggyback ride?"

He nodded. "I was going to use this on the cashier, but then you gave me the  _perfect_  opportunity to use it on you, sugar."

Of course. He'd  _known_ Bill was going to do something demented with the rope, but at least this would be better than using it on the poor cashier. Giving a nod of agreement, he said, "Just don't hurt my shoulder."

"Doll, your shoulder will be fine. Think you can hop on me, or are you too short?" His tone was almost teasing. Dipper huffed and all but tackled Bill for that, ignoring the twinge of discomfort as he got situated on his back, leaning forward to hold his wrists together obediently while he waited for them to be tied. While not entirely happy about it, it was still better than the cashier.

Bill chuckled softly, looping the rope around Dipper's hands and securely tying him. He gave it a tug for good measure, making sure the binding stayed in place and Dipper gave it a test, attempting to dislodge himself from the rope to no avail. "You look good restrained, cutie."

Dipper hummed, resting his head atop Bill's comfortably. "Flattering, but I always look good."

"If you think so." Bill stepped into the store, a small ding resounding just barely above his head. It was strange to be this tall. They paused for a moment before Bill continued, and he tried to figure out what they were doing here.

"Would you like to tell me differently?" Dipper asked idly, then realized where they were headed: the coffee display, complete with a coffee machine, cups, sugars and other drink accessories, and a mirror for those early mornings. A groan escaped him. "Are you getting more coffee?"

Beneath him, he could feel the rumble of Bill's chuckle. "No. You want to guess again, sugar?" He had stopped by the coffee mugs.

Dipper's attention turned to the small mirror situated next to the coffee machine, he could see their reflections in it and his tied wrists crossed in front of Bill's chest. "You came over here to stare at yourself?"

"What?" Bill paused. "I have a mirror in the car for that when I'm driving, but that's not the point. You seem  _determined_ to be a plant fucker, so we're going green. Pick a mug, cutie."

Surprise flooded him, and his eyebrows shot up because he wasn't sure how to comprehend what he was hearing. Dipper was suspended in a moment of disbelief until it caught up. "Wait, seriously?" his tone was laced with shock. Glancing over the coffee mugs and then at Bill through the mirror, the corners of Dipper's lips twitched up and he was—

Well, he was unbelievably grateful, and  _relieved_. Not just because he didn't care to litter but because there was the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe—  _maybe_ Bill actually was taking some responsibility. And all Dipper could do was exist with the dopiest, most earnest expression of appreciation as he peered at him in their reflections.

Bill shifted in his place, selecting a yellow and black mug as he stared at the Dipper in the mirror. "Don't make this  _gay_ ," he muttered. "You going to pick one, cutie? It's on me."

"What?" He blinked, turning his attention to the mugs as his eyes scanned the array of colors, searching for just the right one. "Why.. would it be gay?"

"You're looking at me like religious nuts look at Jesus. And don't question me: I know what that looks like, I have first hand experience."

He hadn't realized he'd been doing that but chuckled a little at the metaphor. "Are you, Bill Cipher, actually telling me you don't get off on that? I thought it'd be a nice stroke to your ego." Eyes landing on a blue mug, he shifted a bit to use his bound wrists in an attempt to maneuver Bill's arm toward it.

Bill didn't miss his attempt at controlling his arm. "Cutie, just ask next time." He grabbed the mug in his free hand. "As nice as it is, it makes it incredibly gay when you're giving me the 'fuck me in the ass right now' eyes. Please, doll,  _we're going green_ , not going slick from precum."

Dipper raised an eyebrow. "I think it's only gay if you're enticed by my bedroom eyes." It hadn't been the look he was going for, had been completely oblivious to it, but it remained amusing.

Bill made his way to the cashier, Dipper shifting his weight to get more comfortable atop him. "It's pretty fucking faggy on your end, cutie." As Bill set the mugs down, the cashier that'd been distracted by reading a magazine looked up and stared in confusion at the sight in front of him.

"Will… this be all, sir?" he asked hesitantly, ringing up the items. Although the question was probably for Bill, the cashier's eyes were on Dipper, seemingly trying to make sense of the bound wrists and piggyback ride.

"Yeah. What're you looking at?" Dipper could just imagine Bill's smirk, "Do I have something on my back?"

Dipper couldn't muffle his snicker and glanced over in time to watch the cashier's face go ashen, so he said, "That was a joke, man. He's just being a jackass with a warped sense of humor."

The cashier seemed too nervous to care. "W-would you like a receipt?"

"Nope, I'm good. Keep the change for yourself, kid. I'm pretty sure you're a vampire with how pale your face is right now."

His tied wrists thumped against Bill's stomach, not too roughly but enough to get his attention. Dipper wasn't impressed, there was no reason to pick on the cashier that already looked like he was going to have an early heart attack from this interaction.

Bill softly grunted from the weak impact. "Oh, fuck you. I'll throw these mugs in the ocean and let your precious fish die because of it."

"I know you're buying mugs, and I'm thankful for that, but you're really not increasing your chances that I'll agree to using them in the future." A second not-quite coffee date, that was.

"What, you don't want to go  _green_ with me, cutie? When combined, our cup colors are." He nodded to the blue and yellow coffee mugs.

"Oh my god." If he could've pinched the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation, he would've. "You… you are really something else, dude."

Bill laughed. "I'm the best, Pine Tree. You, on the other hand… are still pretty fucking gay."

"I get a pass, remember? You're my  _cruuusshh_." It sounded so exaggerated, so drawn out and whiny that it was painfully clear he was being sarcastic. "I've apparently been pining after you for five years, so I'll be as gay as I want."

The corner of Bill's mouth twitched as he collected the paid mugs and exited the building. "Were you this gay around your parents?" As he spoke, he set the mugs on the hood of his car to work on freeing his hands. In a couple skilled motions, he unraveled the knot that kept Dipper's wrists together, releasing him from the bonds. "There ya go, sugar."

"Thanks, that was fun." Sliding down, Dipper went to the passenger side of the vehicle once he'd snatched the mugs from the hood of the vehicle, thinking back to his previous question. "Ha, no. But they probably wanted me to be, they were… super into the whole being open and hip thing," after one especially embarrassing incident, "and it was stifling." He wasn't complaining, though it had been hard to explore himself with them constantly hovering over his shoulder.

Bill chuckled softly. "Of course it was fun, Pine Tree. Stick around me and I'll show you an even better time." He moved to get into the driver's side of the vehicle, throwing the rope into the backseat again. "Mine would've dragged me into the woods and shot me if I was as flamboyant as you are."

That might explain a few things, he internally noted, but hoped to avoid making assumptions and jumping to conclusions about a home life he knew nothing about. "Well, be as flamboyant as you want," he said as he got comfortable in the seat and glanced to Bill, "because I don't think they can hurt you anymore."

Bill looked like he was bristling slightly, starting the vehicle. "Sorry, not gay. Don't need to be flamboyant like you are, kid."

"Being flamboyant isn't inherently gay. They're unrelated." But Dipper wasn't going to press the issue and moved on. "My parents actively  _encouraged_ me to be flamboyant, it was… ironic since they were always trying to show they were supportive." Dipper's throat was tightening, an early warning that he perhaps shouldn't go down this path if he didn't want to get emotional, if he wanted to steer clear of the inevitable and crushing grief, and he fought to keep his mind off of it. "Are we going back to the penthouse now?"

"Yeah. Unless there's something else you wanted to do?"

Nothing came to mind. "No, not really." Besides, his eyelids were growing heavy after the events of the evening— it'd been one hell of a night, a rollercoaster of emotion. With a yawn, he mused aloud, "Mabel's probably done with her date by now." Upon returning, he imagined he'd be getting the play-by-play of what happened with Pacifica.

The car reversed, pulling out of the parking spot, and Bill changed the gear into drive. "Oh, most definitely. I imagine she had one hell of a time with her new girlfriend."

"Mm-hmm, it's nice," he exhaled lazily, then clarified, "that she's okay enough for that kind of stuff, you know?" Mabel's resilience was outstanding, he deeply admired her for it. Gaze shifting to Bill, he asked, "Jealous? I mean, she was on an actual date tonight and you were stuck getting coffee with me." As far as he knew, Bill didn't have a significant other but wasn't entirely sure, either. It would be odd to make sexual advances at him while in a relationship but…

Then again, this was Bill. And he never knew with that guy.

"I liked the coffee," Bill said. "It's better than being stuck on some traditional date with a girl. I bet they went to the movies, and had popcorn and soda, and Mini Northwest walked home with her and gave her a smooch on our doorstep." He made a face as he pulled the car out of the lot.

Dipper wasn't sure how Bill knew Pacifica's last name. Had Mabel mentioned it when she'd talked to them? Assuming that was what happened, he held his tongue and thought about the comparison of their evenings.

A more mundane outing than what they'd experienced, that was almost certain. Personally, he'd take the movie date over what they'd been through in a span of a few hours. "You know why Pacifica probably kissed her?" Dipper started. "Because Mabel wouldn't have ruined the evening with a really bad Russian accent."

Bill looked thoughtful, but it soon faded. "I made your evening  _better_. It's not my fault you're ungrateful." Despite his words, his tone was light.

Although he'd been in a near-dreamy state of just watching the streets of Los Santos pass them, that 'ungrateful' comment had him fully alert again— the tone wasn't the usual cruelty he'd expect from Bill, but it still pinched a nerve. "Oh?" his voice had raised a little, the change subtle but signaling a mix of hurt and curiosity.

Bill glanced at him, eyes surprisingly bright in the darkness of the vehicle. "I'm not wrong, kid. I try to give you a good night and all I get is harassed, beaten down for my exemplary Russian impression."

Dipper tensed and didn't know if he was being serious or not, at a loss as to how to respond. It was one of the rare occasions where he realized he couldn't read Bill, hadn't a clue what he might be thinking. "Um, I'm… I'm sorry?" it was a hesitant statement, Dipper deciding he'd rather play it safe than bet on Bill's ability to take a joke. "My offer to stay away from each other still stands."

The gleam in his eyes faded, replaced by confusion. "What? Why?" More pressingly, "I thought I made it clear earlier I don't want to stay away." He also made it clear that his mind and moods shifted exceedingly fast, so saying that was next to worthless for Dipper. "What's with this… this sudden change of mind? I thought we were having a relatively good time."

"Yeah, I am," a tired smile touched his lips. "Just didn't know if you were serious. I've been called ungrateful before, and…" he trailed off, "well, it doesn't matter. I'm having a good time."

"Are you?"

It wasn't the first time he'd noticed an underlying hint of insecurity, so he earnestly replied, "Yes. Why wouldn't I?" Maybe not the best door to open, he could think of a handful of reasons why tonight had been a mess, but.. Bill was  _trying_ , that much was clear, and he appreciated his efforts because it was progress, a step in the right direction.

Bill tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. "You apologized for… something, I don't understand why, then offered to do the Stan Method. I dislike that. I don't want to stay away from you. Do you?" By this point, Dipper couldn't tell if Bill was talking to him or not, mind working overtime to keep up with this conversation. "Of course you don't," he had continued, "why else would you tell me to not fuck off despite your 'hatred' of me? You're clearly obsessed with me because of that neverending crush."

"Are you trying to make me change my mind?" Dipper asked, less than seriously, then looked away. "If you are, it's not working. You're stuck with the ungrateful, virgin avocado sucker."

"Who has a  _raging_  crush on me.."

Dipper laughed softly but gave a, "No." There was a severe lack of a raging crush, so that wasn't quite possible. "You're not my type."

Bill hummed, "Do you even have a type, cutie?"

"Musical stars," he joked.

That shut Bill up, which was fine because he was already been exhausted. This gave him an opportunity to rest his head against the window and watch through increasingly-heavy eyelids as the world passed them by. Somewhere along the line, he began to doze off, eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time, but still maintaining some semblance of consciousness.

Although unsure of how long had passed, a low chuckle shook him from his half-sleep, and he blinked open his eyes to the sight of Bill laughing softly. "What a fucking stupid joke."

"Hm?" Dipper hummed, mental fog still hovering over him.

"The dumb one about the two guys and the river."

"Oh." Dipper cracked a lopsided grin after a moment as he realized. "You finally got that?"

Bill laughed, "Yeah, it's incredibly stupid. I can't believe you."

With a small pinch of satisfaction and the smile still on his lips, Dipper let his eyes close again. "Guess I'm just unbelievable."

Bill's chuckle rumbled, "You really are."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreseeably the last of the longer chapters, but who knows.

It was a little surprising Stan decided he'd be in charge of the kids again after telling him to leave those two alone, but Bill chalked that up to desperation since Stan and Ford had taken Soos out for firearm training. How embarrassing, having to be taken out for training when he should already know how to operate a gun.

With those three gone, it just left him with the kids and Red and a day off to do whatever they wanted while they awaited the others' return. Red was sitting in the armchair with a magazine, meanwhile Shooting Star and Pine Tree were both taking up the majority of the sofa with how they were spread out. The little fuckers, they were starting to act like they owned the place.

"I'm  _bored_!" said Mabel from her spot on the sofa, her legs hooked over the backside while she laid upside-down on the cushions.

Similarly splayed out but with his legs draped over the armrest, Dipper tilted his head to glance at her. "You've been texting Pacifica all evening. How can you be bored?"

And speaking of texting, if Robbie didn't stop blowing up his phone with reminders of heist details, Bill was going to put a bullet through Robbie's thick skull. He was getting sick of his phone vibrating about shit he already knew. "She's probably bored because she and Pacifica aren't in bed together, like,  _right now_." His tone had changed, mimicking a teenage girl's voice.

"There's more to dating than jumping into bed," Dipper pointed out dryly, "but I guess you try to get the lesser disappointment out of the way first."

Across the couch, Mabel fell into a fit of giggles. "Being in bed with Pacifica  _would_  be fun right now! Maybe Dipper can walk in like he always used to when I had dates over!" It was interesting how that small comment elicited a full-out whine from Dipper, and he mentally noted he'd have to probe at that sometime. Seemed like a sore spot. He liked those vulnerabilities when it came to the kid since his ego could stand to be knocked down a couple pegs from time to time.

"Sorry cutie," Bill said with some smugness. He couldn't help it– Dipper made it  _so easy_. "I know you're jealous of my ability to get more action than you, and I don't even have a sister to share  _her_ experience with."

Dipper's eyes flashed with mischievousness as they settled on him. "Bet that's kind of a let down for a Southerner like you."

"Roll tide!" Mabel piped in before going back to her phone, but Bill shook his head.

"Not from Alabama, doesn't work here." It was hard to contain his laughter though. Bill mused to himself how he bet the twins knew  _all about_  incest with how close they were, he'd walked in on them asleep, spooning on the sofa more than once now. And thinking back, Dipper didn't look half bad as a little spoon... maybe he could get himself some of that, they would probably fit together quite nicely.

"Seriously, dude," Dipper started, almost hesitantly like he was wondering if he'd be corrected, "when you're at the point of having a heterosexual life partner, you're not getting any."

"That's what hookers are for, sugar. They  _love_  me. I even pay their cab fare."

At that, Wendy glanced up from her magazine. "Actually… you pay for a quarter of their cab fare and kick them out of the penthouse. You don't even pay them for the sex."

"Shut it, Red," he grumbled, bristling at Wendy's intervention. "Go back to your ripoff  _Playgirl_ magazine, it's the only action you'll ever get since you'd make such a shitty housewife." He wasn't wrong, and judging by the look of surprise on Wendy's face, she obviously knew it too.

Tensing beside him, Dipper was shooting a warning glance in his direction that lingered for several seconds, as if silently scolding him for that biting comment. He and Wendy weren't on the best terms, so what? Wasn't any of this kid's business.

Instead of a serious verbal chastising like Bill had been expecting, Dipper's expression finally softened into something less harsh, which he figured meant he was off the hook for now. With a mock gasp and the tone of a nagging wife, Dipper said exaggeratedly, "You're sleeping with  _hookers_ , honey? I clean the house all day and cook for us, and you can't be bothered to be faithful."

Bill looked at him in amusement, skeptical of his claim that he cooked because not once had he done it in his presence. "When have you  _ever_  cooked a meal for us?"

"He does it all the time!" Mabel outed him before he could respond, Dipper suddenly looking sheepish. "He just saves the yummy food for when you're not here." Oh. That explained a lot. Bill was torn between being amused and being _furious_ that Dipper would only cook when he wasn't around.

Wendy added, "Yeah, his cheesy jalapeño rice is pretty good."

"I should shove cheesy jalapeño rice down your throats and watch you choke," Bill muttered darkly. So what if maybe he was leaning toward furious, it wasn't his fault Dipper was a little bitch who cooked for everybody except him.

Glaring, Dipper didn't look pleased with his threat. "What's your deal, man?"

"I should be asking you that," Bill challenged, irked by this newfound betrayal. How could Dipper keep this from him? "Why am I the  _only one_  being left out of your meals, Pine Tree? What the fuck is up with that?"

"Maybe it's because you're cheating on me, your lovely and amazing housewife, with hookers."

"Oh, fucking please. You don't even know the last time I was with a whore."

"I know the last time you were with a fake whore."

"That was  _you_ ," Bill was as agitated as he sounded, too focused on this to bother acknowledging Wendy's noise of confusion. Why were the hookers the issue right now? Dipper had intentionally gone behind his back with everyone else,  _cooking_ for them. " _You_  were the crossdressing hooker, but that doesn't fucking matter. Why would you do that? Why would you… fucking go behind my back?" Quieter, with a hint of hurt to his words, he added, "I thought we were friends."

In the background, he could hear Mabel's quiet chant of: "Drama! Drama! Drama!"

"You know what, I'm not a part of this," Wendy said, returning to her magazine as if trying to tune it out.

Seemingly noticing the extent of his frustration, Dipper shifted until he was sitting upright and had moved closer, skinny-jeaned legs crossed. "Dude, chill," it was more hushed, like Dipper was trying to only have this conversation with him rather than the rest of the room. "What are you talking about?"

"You're intentionally doing shit without me." He wasn't going to hide the hurt in his voice, not that he could. It was something so small and he knew that, but he hated how out of the blue it was, how no one had thought or cared enough to tell him until now. Finding out through Mabel was a new low.

"Well, sometimes," he raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze (a subtle movement not lost on Bill) in the process, "you're not here at dinner time." It held an inflection of guilt, a cop out answer.

He knew he was lying, could feel it in every fiber of his being. "I can't believe you," Bill said. "You're trying to pin this back on me? I might not be here twenty-four seven like you are, but that doesn't fucking mean I'm always gone for dinner. You just avoid making it around me."

The corners of Dipper's lips quivered, small twitches bringing them downward as his eyes grew glassy and his breathing hitched. Still unable to meet his eyes, his gaze dancing everywhere but on his. "Look," he swallowed, "it's… it's sort of because—"

" _ **Tell me**_!" Bill almost sounded like Stan with how his voice boomed across the room, Dipper flinching back from the force of his demand. "You little fucker, tell me  _right fucking now_  or I swear to the stars I will leave." And not come back, because he didn't want to be around such  _toxic_  and  _heartless_  individuals.

"— because  _you'll make fun of me_ ," snapped Dipper, harshly. "You'll start in on how  _feminine_ it is and fucking laugh at me until I want to die. There, happy?" Huffing angrily, Dipper shoved away from him and stalked into the kitchen without so much as a glance.

Mabel made a spectator's 'ooo' sound, watching the interaction. "Fight, fight, fight!" When did  _she_ become Stan? And here Stan thought he was spending too much time with Dipper, clearly those two were spending too much time together.

As angry as he was with the kid, it was probably a good idea to go after him if he wanted to get his pants in the future. Bill got to his feet and followed him into the kitchen, eyes sweeping the pristine room and landing on Dipper, who was hunched over a countertop with his head in his hands. "Would you really want to die, Pine Tree?" Bill asked, leaning against the wall.

Dipper peered at him for a long moment and eventually shrugged. "Maybe."

"Have you wanted to die because of being called feminine before?" Bill inquired further, wondering what was up with this kid. It seemed way overdramatic to wish for death over something so menial. And that was coming from  _him_ , the guy who admittedly had meltdowns over what some would consider minor issues.

"I used to get teased over not being manly enough," it was a guarded response, rather unemotional in nature, "but it's also because cooking is something I actually enjoy, and… if you get cruel over how  _feminine_ it might be, I'll probably feel like shit every time I cook after that and stop having fun doing it."

He was  _teased_  over his femininity and that was why he claimed he wanted to die? How pathetic. After a long moment of contemplation, he finally spoke, "If it means..  _that much_  to you, I won't tease you about your cooking." For now, at least. Maybe if Dipper grew a pair that would change. "It's cute you cook– how'd you convince Stan to get real ingredients?"

"I just asked? You were there." Dipper sighed and shook his head. "Thanks, I guess, but…" he trailed off, worrying his lower lip, looking like he wanted to say more, but then it never came. "It doesn't matter."

"When I was there, Stan asked if you didn't like the free-for-all we had going. He never agreed to your demands, cutie." He was getting too soft with the kids, letting them push him around, succumbing to their crazy wishes. So much for being a  _feared_  crime boss.

"I don't know why you're so upset with me over this when you have a hobby you didn't tell me about." Dipper motioned through the doorway at the baby grand.

Over his shoulder, Bill glanced at the piano, his gaze hardening before it returned to Dipper. Who snitched? They were going to DIE for their betrayal. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't play the piano. Never have, never will."

"Mm-hmm, okay," he said skeptically, "so you're telling me it's fine if I just walk over here," and that shit actually brushed past him to start approaching the piano,  _his piano_ , "and play something?"

"I doubt you could play it right," Bill said tensely. "Your fingers are too noodly to play a decent tune, Pine Tree. You should go back to cooking. Or… pouting in the kitchen, or whatever you were doing." And stay away from his fucking piano.

"I don't know," Dipper's fingertips grazed the trim, they were damn near dancing along the smooth surface, "sounds like you wouldn't know the difference since you don't play it."

"I know the difference between having fingers and not having fingers, and you're awfully close to not having any. Hands off." Bill moved to join his side, smacking his hand away as he whipped out his handkerchief to wipe up the disgustingly greasy fingerprints Dipper left behind. "Don't touch my shit."

Dipper's eyebrows raised, the tiniest hint of a smile working its way onto his face. "I'm sure you could make even Chopin jealous."

"I'd rather die of tuberculosis first. Leave my shit alone, you hear me kid? Or I'll be Chopin off your fingers." Bill loathed the way his expression didn't falter in fear anymore, that dumb dreamy look plastered on his equally dumb face like he'd found something magnificent, those doe-eyes glittering with interest.

He hated him. A little. The vibrating of his phone in his pocket caught his attention, and he fished it out to see it was Robbie and wasn't sure who the lesser evil was, but didn't have much of a choice since Robbie was his boss. "I gotta take this kid. You better not touch the piano." Without waiting for Dipper to respond, he turned away and headed to the balcony door, accepting the call as he walked. "What do you want?"

"Is it too hard to respond to your texts? Are you even getting them?" The whine-train never stopped with Robbie Valentino. "Are you in or out for the heist? Need to know, like, now."

Choo choo.

Hopefully the train would derail over a cliff and Robbie would fucking die. "Of course I'm getting them, you fucking idiot. It's hard not to when you're sending a shit-ton of pointless details while I'm busy. Yes, I am down for the heist. Are you going to fuck off now?" Outside, the distant stars glimmered in the dark sky. It was disappointing he couldn't see more of them in the city, and he wondered if Dipper would be up for a coffee run after this. They could head toward the coastline and watch the stars for the evening, he liked the thought.

"See, you could've  _texted_ that so I wouldn't have to call and hear your dumbass voice." Ah, but he knew better. Robbie probably  _loved_ his dumbass voice, wanted it whispering sweet nothings into those pierced ears while he fucked him. Robbie switched topics, "What about those kids? They still with Stan?"

How stupid was Robbie? "Where else would they be? They're caged puppies, they're not going anywhere. Why?" Bill didn't understand his interest in this topic. It'd been like… two weeks or something, the kids clearly didn't know shit. They weren't a threat, but he knew Stan wanted to keep them until the political situation had settled.

"What the fuck, is he adopting them or something? They have to leave sometime."

"Sorry, Stacey. I know how much  _you_  want to adopt them, but Stan'll probably beat you to it."

There was a dangerous undertone to his voice. "Pentagram and I have been talking, we think they're too much of a risk."

Okay, now they were starting to sound paranoid. The kids, a risk? That'd be fun to play with and stir the pot a little, just the right amount to get a rise out of Robbie. "Oh, yes. They've been plotting on going to the police and submitting a report on what they remember. Which is everything, by the way."

"What? Holy—" There were scattered, vehement curses on the other side of the line, and a shrill demand from none other than Gideon, though it was too distant to be intelligible. "Are you shitting me? You've just been  _fine_ with that? You were there too."

Bill chuckled. The fact he believed him so easily was  _hilarious_. "If shit hits the fan, it's on your ass, not mine. Unlike you, I don't flaunt my face around in public."

"Get rid of them."

Yawn. Robbie overreacting, as usual. Disinterested in the conversation and the specific instructions Robbie was giving him, Bill looked around the city, trying to pick out a coffee-and-stargaze location that Dipper might enjoy. And when he replied, it was a dismissive, "Okay. Anything else?" He wasn't going to kill the kids. Probably, really was dependent on how mouthy Dipper thought he could get with him. Despite Robbie's demand, Bill would rather sit back and see how things went with Shooting Star and Pine Tree. As far as he knew, Question Mark would be their killer, considering how shitty he was with weapons.

"No, just… text next time and make sure—"

Pulling the phone away from his ear mid sentence, he clicked the end call button. Thank stars that was over. Heading back inside, he noticed Wendy and the kids seemed to be getting ready to depart since they were hovering around the entryway of the penthouse. They were leaving without him? What  _heathens_. Why were they always excluding  _him_?

Wendy was the first to see he'd come back inside, and she explained, "Mabel and I are bored, so we're heading to the pier in Del Perro." She lightly punched Dipper's shoulder, which he gave something of a smile-grimace at, then rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "And this guy's coming with us. Stan won't mind, especially if he doesn't know."

"Great, that makes four of us. I'm guessing we're taking my car, then." Wendy and Mabel couldn't drive because they were girls, and Dipper probably didn't know how to. Bill hadn't seen him try, nor had he ever offered despite the kid's apparent issues with his driving.

"Nah, mine's already parked on the street. Easy enough."

Bill didn't want her shitty car, but whatever. He'd put up with it for now. "Hand over the keys." He walked toward them, extending his hand to take the keys as he stared expectantly at her.

"Don't be a jackass, man." Wendy stared back, deadpanning, "You aren't driving." Her keys stayed securely in her hand as she turned to the door.

Explaining his reasoning, he said, "Well, women can't and Dipper doesn't know how to." The chorus of protests ranging from accusations of sexism to Dipper claiming he  _could_ drive rang out, but he ignored it to demand, "Hand them over, Ice Bag."

"Nope, guess you're taking your own car. Come on guys."

As Wendy exited the penthouse, Dipper followed after but waited in the doorway after the two ladies had passed him, "To be fair, you weren't technically invited to begin with."

They weren't excluding him from something again! "Yeah, well I'm not letting you do something without me  _like you've been doing._ "

"It's almost like you enjoy being around me."

"Keep telling yourself that, cutie." Maybe one day it'd be true.

A flicker of amusement lit in Dipper's brown eyes. "If I stayed here, would you still go?"

… No. "Sure, I could hang out with Shooting Star instead."

"Sounds like a fun girl's night." Yeah, but at least Bill would probably get pussy out of it because unlike Dipper, he had a chance with the ladies.

From down the hallway, there was an unmistakably Mabel call of, "Hurry up, Dippy! We're leaving, like, now, so get your butt over here!"

The kid turned to leave, but Bill reached out to grab his shoulder, Dipper flinching slightly. Bill pushed down the tiny pinch of guilt because he wasn't going to hurt him again, Dipper needed to stop being such a wuss."Where are you going, Pine Tree? You're not leaving with those two."

"I'm not?" he asked, sounding less confused than he did intrigued by this new information. "What, are you going to win my favor in the next five seconds?"

Why did he  _want_  to go with them anyway? He'd just be trapped by girl talk. "I don't think you have five seconds, sugar. Besides, I'm better company than those girls are."

With the sound of a car starting outside, Dipper seemed to realize he was right: time was up, didn't have a choice anymore, guess he was stuck with Bill — oh  _no_ , what a pity. A muffled noise of vibration filled the silence and Dipper snatched his phone from his pocket to read the notification. "Mabel says to meet them there, so I guess you now have fifteen minutes to win my favor and show me what  _good company_ you are." Before Bill knew it, the kid was taking his wrist and dragging him to the garage.

Oh, he could show him good company in fifteen minutes. He yanked his hand free but followed Dipper down into the garage, chuckling softly. "So, you wanted me to show you a good time? Take off your pants and bend over the hood."

"Are you at least going to cover the whole cab fare when we're done?" Despite what he said, he was getting in the passenger seat and once again propping his feet on the dashboard.

Christ, this kid's sass had no off switch. But maybe he liked that. Maybe.

* * *

The drive to the pier was eventless for the most part. On the bright side, they arrived in thirteen minutes, not fifteen, and if Dipper tried to claim he wasn't good company on the way over, that'd just make him a bigger liar than he already was. They'd had a nice chat, nice music, a nice laugh when Dipper asked what song was on the radio and he said it was Darude's "Sandstorm."

Well, Dipper actually hadn't laughed at that but Bill sure did, enough to make up for the kid's lack of enthusiasm. Wasn't going to let a hilarious joke go to waste.

"Hey, what's that?" Dipper asked from the passenger seat, Bill didn't bother to look at what he was commenting on, too busy finding a parking spot since they'd arrived. This place was always insanely busy in the evenings, bustling with a nonstop swarm of people; he wasn't itching to fight the crowds within the pier and still preferred his idea of an evening under the stars. In the corner of his vision he could see Dipper shuffling to get closer to the window, probably squinting to get a clear image through the darkness, brightened only by the festive lights of Del Perro's amusement park, Pleasure Pier. "I think—" he paused, "I think it's a dog? Do they allow dogs here?"

A dog? That caught his attention because Bill liked dogs, not that he'd tell Dipper that. He glanced away from the road to try to spot the canine Dipper was referring to. Was it… was it that Golden Retriever? "The retriever?" he inquired to verify his suspicions. If so, that dog was  _his_.

"Sure?" Dipper sounded anything but. "I don't know dog breeds, dude. Parents didn't like pets, so we never had them."

Time to educate the kid. "The dog running around is a Golden Retriever.  _Gorgeous_  dogs. Very loyal and affectionate." Not that Dipper would know about loyalty or affection, seeing as he betrayed him with his secret cooking and wouldn't even give him a blowjob. He mused aloud, "I wonder if the dog'll come to me?" Throwing the car in park, Bill ignored the fact they weren't in a spot and got out of his vehicle.

Although he could hear the kid unclipping his seatbelt to leave with him, there was a whine of, "Wait, we're not in a parking spot! If you want, I... I could do it?" Appearing by his side within a moment, he cleared his throat. "Remember earlier, when you said I couldn't drive? Well, I can. I have a permit and everything."

"Hah, what, did you bribe the DOT to get it?"

Dipper appeared to be mildly offended at the accusation. "I scored a perfect on the test," he informed him, "but never did the driving test part because my parents— uh, they thought driving was too dangerous, so… yeah. Mabel only got hers because she kept bugging them, but I never did."

Bill laughed at him. "Was it twenty questions with pictures? Hard, I know. When I did it, we were given forty questions in story scenarios."

"That's because you're  _old_ ," Dipper muttered.

"Other states do it differently!" He sharply reminded him. "It's not  _age_ , it's how states handle the test."

"Okay, so it's because you're a Beach Boy from Florida."

He scoffed. "And you're a Sun Slut from San Andreas, get over it."

Dipper couldn't seem to resist laughing at that, shooting a flirty wink in his direction. "Can't resist that San Andreas ass, we just do it better here than in Miami."

"Nope," he denied, "I've still seen better." There was a brief pause. "Crash the car if you want kid, but don't run over the dog." If he hurt the puppy, Bill would  _kill him_. He handed the keys over to Dipper and let the kid scamper off to go be a moderately law-abiding citizen.

As he left to correct the parking problem, Dipper called over his shoulder, "Just for that, your butt smacking privileges have been revoked!"

Hah, so Dipper thought. Bill would continue to slap his ass and he  _knew_  Pine Tree would like it. Love it, even, because it was Bill doing it. Dipper was more than just a Sun Slut, he was a Sun Slut for  _him_.

After he'd had his fill of watching Dipper walk away, Bill approached the dog, cooing to her gently. "Hey puppy, come here." And she did, much to his delight. She trotted over and licked at his outstretched hand, and he grabbed hold of her pale purple collar.

Her previous owners obviously didn't care enough about her if they were letting her roam the streets without any contact information on her tag. Upon examination, he could see her name was Bella. Well, Bella was safe with him now, and he moved to sit with her on the nearby curb situated outside the amusement park.

As he sat beside her, his hands gently raked over her fluffy, golden fur, and he relished in the softness, scratching all the right places from the way she stayed next to him while lapping up the attention. She didn't seem to be in bad spirits, but then again, why should she? She was getting adopted by the best of the best —  _him_.

It was perfect.

Dipper approached shortly after, looking from the phone in his hand to Bill, then to the dog and back to him. "Mabel and Wendy are almost here, by the way. I warned them about the lack of parking." Noticing the new person, Bella momentarily left Bill's previous bombardment of pets to demand them from Dipper, who complied by stroking her fur and was rewarded with licks. Taking a seat next to him, he commented, "Wow, you were right about the friendliness."

"Goldies are fantastic," Bill said with some fondness. "I don't know why they'd let her run around so carelessly. She deserves better." She deserved him.

"Does she have a human?" Dipper asked, searching through the copious amounts of fluff to find any tag on her collar while Bella lowered herself to lie near their feet, seemingly content with the affection she was receiving from both.

Bill shrugged. "A collar and a name. No contact information, not that I'd want to hand her back. It's dangerous out here and they just let her go."

"Oh," he held the metal tag between his fingers before letting it drop back into the sea of golden curls, "Bella. That's a nice name." Yes. Bella was a lovely name. Bill and Bella, Bella and Bill.. it was very pleasant, had quite the ring to it, he liked it a lot. "She's such a pretty girl, I can't believe she'd just be out here alone."

"If I see her owner," he mused out loud, "I should kill them. Bella needs a better one anyway." He rubbed the golden dog's back affectionately. "Stan won't mind." If he did, Bill would kill him too. He wasn't losing another dog.

Dipper paused in his movements to stare at him, then returned to petting Bella. "I hope this is one of your weird jokes. Sometimes it's hard to tell, your humor sucks."

Bill glanced at him. "Why would I be joking about this?" There was no humor in keeping a puppy safe from neglectful owners.

"Because someone is probably really sad about losing their dog and is trying to find her, and you're all, 'I should kill them because I'm Bill Cipher and I have more homicidal tendencies than black and yellow suits!'"

"If they cared about their dog, they wouldn't have lost her in the first place." His tone was a snap, harsh and cold. "What kind of asshole doesn't even have contact information on her? That screams 'horrible owner', and I'm not going to let them touch her again."

Dipper looked… concerned, mildly horrified even. "Seriously? You're— you're going to adopt her?" It seemed like more was on the tip of his tongue, perhaps another ridiculous reminder this wasn't his dog to keep. Bullshit, so he was just glad the kid had enough sense not to say it.

"Why wouldn't I?" he demanded. Of course he was going to keep her. "Unlike you, I have experience with pets." Nothing he'd disclose with Dipper. The deaths of Poppy and Buttercup were still a fresh wound on his mind, despite the handful of years that had past.

Dipper shifted uncomfortably. "I just don't think—"

A screech interrupted him and within seconds, Mabel was upon them, crouching down to fawn over his new companion. "PUPPY! CAN WE KEEP HER? SHE'S SO PRETTY!"

Following after at a much more leisurely pace, Wendy said, "Cool dog. Whose is it?"

"Mine," Bill responded with a smug glance at Dipper. He wasn't going to convince him otherwise.

"Have fun convincing Stan. I doubt he'll go for it since you're not taking in a cat," she said with a chuckle. "So, are you guys just going to wait around out here or hit Pleasure Pier? The fun's inside, not in the parking lot."

Mabel had wrapped her arms around Bella. "I want to go on the rides!"

Wendy clapped her on the shoulder. "Sure, let's go. Bill, Dipper, you coming? Bet us gals could outride you, but the operators probably aren't going to be crazy about your dog."

"Sure," Bill said. "I want to get a ball for Bella." They could find a spot to throw it around. He knew Golden Retrievers were high energy, and this gave him an opportunity to stay away from the pier's swarms of people. "You can outride Pine Tree. I need to get rope out of my trunk first."

There was the briefest glimpse of amusement on Dipper's face, but he didn't say anything, already being pulled along by an impatient Mabel to get into the amusement park while Wendy took the lead in confident strides.

Bill made his way back to the parking lot, looking for the familiar golden vehicle with Bella trotting at his side. It wasn't long until he found it. Well, the kid managed to park without destroying his car, although he did a shitty job of being between the lines. The tires were on the line. He wasn't going to fix it though, and moved to unlock his trunk and grab the rope. This would hold Bella until they got her a real leash.

His train of thought was interrupted by his phone going off. If it was fucking Robbie  _again_ , he was going to—

Luckily, it wasn't Robbie. It was Pine Tree.

( **9:10 PM)**   _Hi_

( **9:10 PM)**  hey

 **(9:10 PM)**   _Where are you?_

 **(9:11 PM)**  hiding a body in my trunk

If Dipper actually believed that, he was dumber than Robbie. Bill already stated when he was with the others that he was getting rope for his dog.

 **(9:11 PM)**   _Dude you can't joke about that, not after saying you wanted to kill Bella's human like five minutes ago_

 **(9:11 PM)**  i didn't say i was joking

 **(9:11 PM)**   _I'm starting to rethink riding back with you_

 **(9:12 PM)**  do you want to join him in the trunk cutie?

 **(9:12 PM)**  also why aren't you on a ride

 **(9:12 PM)**   _Didn't meet the height requirement_

 **(9:12 PM)**  i always knew you were 2

 **(9:13 PM)**   _Yeah, 2 much 4 you_

 **(9:14 PM)**   _But seriously, where are you because I'm not feeling rides tonight. I want to hang out with my crush, you should be flattered_

Bill's eyes narrowed at the familiarity of the statement, thinking he'd said something similar to Dipper before, but didn't comment on it.

 **(9:14 PM)** i just got rope out of my trunk

 **(9:14 PM)** to leash bella

Speaking of which, he looped one end of the rope around Bella's collar and tied it. Now she wouldn't be going anywhere.

 **(9:14 PM)** but you can meet us in the gift shop

With his dog safely secured, he was already heading to it, leaving the parking lot and entering the amusement park. The employees knew better than to fuck with him about Bella.

 **(9:15 PM)** you were quick to leave for someone who wanted to hang

 **(9:15 PM)**   _Mabel pulled me away?_

 **(9:15 PM)**   _She's surprisingly strong_

 **(9:15 PM)** stop blaming your sister for your shortcomings

 **(9:16 PM)** you're short and weak, we get it pine tree

 **(9:16 PM)**   _I mean I don't have to hang out with you_

 **(9:16 PM)**   _I just thought it'd be nice but maybe I'll stick with Mabel if you're going to be like this_

 **(9:16 PM)** then do that

 **(9:16 PM)**   _I'm kidding, I like Bella way better than you_

 **(9:16 PM)** go suck stan's cock

Seriously. If all this kid wanted to do was harass him over text, he could fuck off. Bill had a new friend now. A better friend. Bella.

 **(9:17 PM)**   _Ew. You'd probably want to watch_

 **(9:17 PM)** nah i'd go play with my dog

 **(9:17 PM)**  not into old men and she's better company than you are

 **(9:18 PM)**   _Because unlike me, she'll come if you tell her to? ;)_

 **(9:18 PM)** oh fuck you

 **(9:18 PM)**   _You want to_

 **(9:18 PM)**  not anymore

 **(9:18 PM)**   _And I repeat: 2 much 4 you_

 **(9:18 PM)** i could get you to come for me though

A little cock-hungry twink like him would love to be bound and gagged by Bill, bent over and fucked relentlessly. He just didn't know it yet, or perhaps he did with the way he'd been flirting today.

 **(9:19 PM)**   _Nope_

 **(9:19 PM)** they all say that ;)

Dipper was just in denial he'd have one hell of a good time.

 **(9:19 PM)**   _Kind of difficult to do that when my interest in you is as nonexistent as your modesty_

 **(9:19 PM)** i like it when ladies play hard to get

 **(9:20 PM)**  that's been you all week and i'd tap that, doll

 **(9:20 PM)**   _Why bother? Apparently my butt is inadequate_

 **(9:20 PM)**  yeah but it could still be a good fuck cutie

Oh yes. But Bill had lost interest in the discussion, having made his way into the gift shop near the entrance to Pleasure Pier. Bella was happily panting beside him and he patted the top of her head as he searched for a ball he could use to play with her. He'd give Dipper a few minutes to show up before he left to go to the  _real_  park.

Not long after, a voice rang out, "A jackass and his dog walk into a gift shop…" and suddenly, there was a presence beside him, a short presence that sassed him whenever possible. "Hi sweetheart," he cooed, then more flatly said, "and Bill." And there it was.

"Ah, you must be the next addition to my trunk. I always wanted to tie a midget up and throw him in with my shovel and body bag. Tell me, cutie, how loudly can you scream when your mouth is gagged and your hands restrained?" At this rate, maybe he should've just gone to the park without Pine Tree.

Dipper snickered, "Loud enough to always impress my dominant."

"I'd get off better if I strangled you. Stars know how much you  _love_  my hands pressing down on that velvety throat of yours."

It was almost sweet, the way his bravado instantly dropped and he swallowed so thickly, maybe remembering the time he'd been trapped under him. His throat had been soft to the touch, he could clearly recall the outline of his airway beneath his skin, how much  _power_  over Dipper he felt. One small movement and he could've killed the kid.

Changing the subject, he asked, "Which ball do you think she'd like the best?" Dipper reached out to grab a rubber one, bouncing it against the floor and Bella jerked, suddenly attentive now that there was a  _ball_ in her vicinity. Goldens were so wonderful, the best companions.

Far better than Dipper. "We can get her a rubber ball. Or all the balls." He wanted to spoil his precious puppy. "All the balls would do nicely." As Dipper watched in amusement, Bill began to pick one of each ball. A rubber ball, a tennis ball, a ball that squeaked, and a ball that was squishy to the touch. It was a little disappointing the gift shop didn't have more options, but there was plenty of time to swing by a more appropriate store later.

Balls in hand, he made his way to the cashier and let them ring up the armada of balls. The ballmada. When they finished, he took the ballmada and began to head out of the gift shop. "Which should we start with?" Bill asked as he hunted through the bag. His bright eyes were on Bella as he pulled one out. "I know Golden Retrievers like tennis balls. You want the tennis ball, sweetie?" It seemed she very much did want the tennis ball, the way she bounced around him in excitement—not  _on_ him, no, Goldens were too polite for that.

Dipper was staring at him again with that goofy smile, the one he'd worn when he initially confirmed his history of being in a musical. It was a dumb, knowing smile and while he otherwise would've wanted to wipe it off the kid's face, he was in too good of a mood to care.

Bill gave her makeshift leash a lot of slack once they made it to the park beside the pier, wanting her to be able to easily chase after the ball. Once she had plenty of leeway, he threw the ball and watched as she dashed after it. What a gorgeous puppy, he was proud to be able to call her his own.

Beside him, he could see Dipper taking a seat in the grass as he folded his legs in front of him, leaning back on his hands. "So you're really keeping her?" he asked, his eyes on Bella. "She is pretty sweet, and cute."

"Why wouldn't I?" As far as Bill was concerned, whoever previously owned her fucked up and didn't deserve another chance with her. She was his now. Nothing would hurt her. Not... not like the others.

Dipper shrugged. "Will Stan let you have a pet in the penthouse, or… or do you live somewhere else too?"

"Stan is a cat guy, calls them all Puff Daddy." It was why Bill had initially began calling him 'Big Daddy' but they hadn't had a cat around in a while, thank god. If Stan  _dared_  to try to come between them, Bill wouldn't hesitate to put a knife in his gut. He liked the guy, but his dog came first. "It wouldn't be a strategic move on his part to deny me a dog," he said. "If he wants his intestines to stay inside him, that is. I do have another place, I just don't go to it often." It was in the countryside, one of many safe houses they used. Bella would probably like it.

Although he looked momentarily alarmed at the threat, he simply grimaced. "Jeez, dude. It's not like you pay rent, I think he could deny you a dog." But after a second, he seemed curious about the residence in question and inquired, "Your other place… is it in San Andreas?"

" _No one_  is taking her away from me," he almost snapped at Dipper. He already lost several dogs, she wouldn't be another number in a sea of heartache and tragedy. "Stan can fight me if he wants, I'm not budging." Bella had returned to his side, dropping the ball by his feet and nudging his hand like she was eager for him to continue. Bill was happy to oblige, scooping the ball up and tossing it.

Putting his hands up in mock surrender, he said, "Relax, man. I didn't say anyone was."

He implied it when he said Stan could deny him. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Returning to the subject of his house, he took a breath, trying to calm down. "Yeah. It's a ways out from Los Santos, in the country. Why?"

"Heterosexual life partner getaway weekend," he said with a grin, "and now with a dog included." Still watching Bella chase after the ball and pounce on it before beginning to trot back, Dipper went on, "Paleto Bay, I'm guessing? That's a nice, quiet town, and the coastline's gorgeous. It seems like everyone has a place there."

"I didn't want to live with hicks," Bill answered, referencing the weird folks of Sandy Shores which was another popular getaway destination. "So, yes, your guess is correct. Instead there's a giant Cluckin' Bell chicken statue."

"And not nearly as many meth labs."

"Give it a few years."

"Who knows," he replied, "maybe the new mayor will crack down on illegal substances when the election's over."

Bill laughed at that. "I'm fairly certain the new mayor is going to have to deal with assassination attempts first. With the raids they've been doing, a bunch of gangs are going to rally like Natives against the invading white man and demand the scalp of whoever's elected."

Dipper's expression had lost its cheer, and he seemed eager to leave this subject behind as he peered thoughtfully at Bella. "Since you have a place in Paleto Bay… do you think Bella would like swimming? Taking the proper precautions, I mean— it  _is_ the ocean."

"Have you never been around a dog before, kid? Of course she's going to like swimming. You won't be able to keep her away from the water." She would happily splash around in the ocean. He could already imagine her bright little paws sinking into the damp sand, leaving a sea of pawprints in her glorious wake.

"Not  _all_ dogs like to swim, do they?"

"I haven't met one that doesn't."

They fell into a silence, and Bill focused the rest of his attention on throwing balls for Bella. He liked to change it up, switching out the balls and pretending to throw them to watch her go after nothing. It was adorable in every way, though Dipper had voiced his disagreement and would express it by actually throwing a ball for her. What a child. After a while of playing fetch, Bella flopped down in the grass near them and Bill departed to get his puppy some water and a snack. As well as Dipper, since he supposed he should take care of both his ladies.

Purchasing some jerky, bottled water, a small dish, and a chocolate bar, Bill returned and distributed them accordingly. He filled the dish with water for Bella and placed a handful of the jerky on the ground for her, then gave Dipper the candy. "For you, cutie. Can't have my ladies going hungry."

The deep frown he received was legendary, and he couldn't stop the shit-eating grin on his face. But Dipper didn't stay mad at him for long, probably too hungry to hold it against him, and was now begrudgingly eating the candy bar.

And his entourage was looking a bit tired, Bella splayed out on the grass with Dipper on his back next to her, his hand lazily making circles in the soft fur of her side. It was a perfect sight, and Bill joined the duo by flopping on the grass beside them.

Dipper looked at him as he started to run his hands through Bella's fur as well, seemingly noticing something with the way his eyes focused in interest. "What's that?" he questioned, then clarified with the slightest nod of his head, "On your finger."

"Oh, this?" He raised his hand, looking at the golden ring. It was studded with an orange gem– citrine, the planetary stone for a Virgo, though Dipper didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, that," Dipper confirmed, examining the ring. "Is that the one you were talking about getting a while ago?" He glanced between the new ring and the one he wore, holding his up to put them together. "They look really similar." Well, obviously, the only difference was the gemstone.

He had told Dipper he was getting one that was similar, they just weren't exact matches. "The stones are different. I'm glad it's not gay looking like the Tiger's Eye, I hate how Stan and Ford's rings turned out."

Humming lightly, he inquired in reference to his new ring, "Why did you get… that one? Whatever gem that is."

"It reminds me of someone." Bill didn't want to go into it further, looking at the golden puppy beside them. He didn't want to tell Dipper how he secretly enjoyed his companionship, how he crafted the ring because he wanted something to remember him by when Stan finally got rid of him. Or more grimly, if Robbie managed to get to him and his sister first. Dipper was quickly becoming his favorite person despite (well, because of) what a little shit he could be at times, and Bill wasn't looking forward to him being gone.

The kid couldn't be more oblivious in social situations if he tried. "Oh. Who?"

Well, it wasn't any of Dipper's damn business. Even if Dipper didn't know who it was, he wouldn't tell him a fucking thing. Seriously, Bill didn't go around  _demanding_  information like that from other people. "None of your concern."

There was a vibrating noise, and Dipper used his free hand to hold his phone, the screen casting a blueish illumination onto his face. "Mabel and Wendy are done with rides. They want to know if we're even still here." He began to type a reply to his sister's text. "Mabel says they're going to get food and wait for the fireworks to start, then head back."

"You can tell them we're having a better time," Bill smirked. Were they not? He was having a blast with Bella. Dipper wasn't awful company. "We don't need a stupid  _ferris wheel_  to entertain ourselves for an hour."

"Nooo," he whined pitifully but it melted into a laugh. "She'll probably make a joke about how we've been busy getting it on."

That wasn't such a bad thing. "The night's still young, cutie. I bet this park hasn't seen some action in years."

Dipper's eyes got huge, blown wide, and he asked incredulously, "With  _Bella_ here?" He seemed to pause for a second, like he'd been betrayed by himself and was surprised— he flopped back against the grass with a groan. "We're not going to do anything like that, dude."

"So… wait, if Bella wasn't here right now you'd be down for it?" Dipper hadn't jumped to rejecting him because  _him_ , rather his thoughts seemed to have gone straight for Bella. Interesting.

That appeared to hit the mark on the head since even in the dark he could see the way Dipper's cheeks colored. "God, no," it was scathing, like he was covering embarrassment. "Not interested in sleeping with you." With a sideways glance, he referenced their prior conversation, "I only go for guys that cover the whole cab fare, and probably won't slip into a poor Russian accent while we're boning."

Bill faintly chuckled, rubbing a spot behind Bella's ear. "I don't believe you, cherry. I think you'd go for a guy who'd only give you an eighth of the cab fare while slipping into an  _excellent_  Russian accent."

"Nope, I still think I'd go for the cactus over you." Dipper fell silent for a second or two, thinking. "Honestly, giving me a cab fare would just make me feel like a hooker since you're technically my ride back and we live together as it is. You'd be paying me for no reason."

"You'd be missing out on a great sexual experience if you went with the cactus, sugar. Besides, you'd be a hooker regardless since you seem in it for the cab fare." Not that he cared. The cost of cab fare hardly touched his wealth.

Dipper made a face. "Well, I sure wouldn't be in it for sex with you. At least the cab fare is  _slightly_ appealing."

"Why don't you take my cock instead? It'll be a lot more  _fullfeeling_." Dipper's reaction in three, two, one...

With a squeak escaping him, the look Dipper gave was some cross of astonishment and horror, his cheeks reddening faster than he thought possible, and he was quick to clasp his hands over Bella's fluffy ears. "Oh my god. You— you can't say stuff like that in front of her." It came out as a hiss. "Or in front of  _me_ , for fuck's sake. I need an adult."

Bill burst into laughter. "I just did, cutie." And he had no regrets, simply because of Dipper's reaction. Puffing his chest, he reminded, "I  _am_  an adult."

"You're impossible," he muttered with a pout, leaning back again. Although he looked flustered from his earlier comment, he didn't say anything more about it. "The stars are bright out here. Easier to see than in Vinewood."

"That's because the city's so polluted it's amazing even a single star could be spotted from the penthouse." It was also surprising people survived in the city, given the living conditions. Bill was used to the reek, something he attributed to being a stress smoker.

"Yeah, if only more people had a  _midget_ ," Dipper used his word from earlier and rolled his eyes, _"_ to convince them to go green, it might not be so bad."

Bill shook his head. "If everyone had you, they'd pollute just to piss you off."

"Excuse you, I'm a  _delight_ —"

There was a sudden, cheerful cry of a male voice. "Bella!" And she reacted to the call, immediately rising to her feet and looking in the direction of the two approaching strangers—a male and a female—who had another Golden Retriever in tow. The woman stayed back with the other dog, meanwhile the man's arms were outstretched as he greeted Bella fondly. "You silly girl," he said with relief as he knelt down next to her. "Your mommy and I thought we lost you, always runnin' off like that."

Bill hated this guy instantly, and that was etched across his face. "The hell do you think you're doing, asshole?"

He seemed unfazed, eyes flicking between him and Dipper. "Oh! Were you watching her? She's a troublemaker, ain't she? But I love her anyway, and that was real nice of you two."

Bill's hand instantly dipped into the pocket of his blazer, coming up empty. Where was his gun? He must've left it in his car, fuck his life. Fuck this guy. Fuck this ASSHOLE for coming here after he LET his dog run off.

"C'mon Bella," he spoke to her gently, "let's get you and Benny home."

"Don't you fucking touch my dog, fuckhead."

" _Bill_ ," Dipper hissed in warning under his breath.

The man waved him off with a chuckle, undoing the rope around her collar, "No siree, this is my dog! Bella, and her brother Benny. Pretty dogs, huh?"

Bill was moving to get to his fet, body bristling from anger. "She stopped being your dog when you  _let her run loose_  without any contact information on her, you inconsiderate jackass.  _MY_  dog could have been killed because of your stupidity. You're not touching her."

Dipper was stepping between him and the other male, trying to block him from advancing further with a stern and semi-worried, "Bill,  _stop_."

"No!" Bill almost growled, watching through fiery eyes as the guy walked away. "He's not taking  _my_  fucking dog, Pine Tree."

"I think we're gonna head out," the man called, "you two are still nice fellas. Thanks for helpin' take care of her for a while."

"I'm going to  _hunt you down_  and  _rip out your cold heart_  and fucking  _eat it_ while I dance in  _your fucking intestines_." Bill moved to stop the guy because even if he didn't have a gun he still had a knife to do the job, but Dipper remained firmly between them. He tried to go around the kid, but it was no use when Dipper held his ground and stayed put. He was tempted to shove the kid over and lunge for the asshole, but the violent thought reminded him of how Dipper reacted when he  _accidentally_  hurt his damn shoulder. He didn't want that to happen again.

Already walking away, the utterly oblivious man yelled over his shoulder, "I'll have to check with the wife! Visit anytime!" And they were disappearing into the distance.

No, no, no. This wasn't fucking happening again. He already lost everything else he loved, why did they have to take away Bella too? He loved that puppy, despite the short time they had together.

Dipper looked downward, almost appearing guilty as he rubbed at his arms.

"You… you fucking…" Bill's voice was quiet, somewhere between angry and broken. "I can't fucking believe you right now."

"I'm really sorry," it sounded rushed. Panicked. "I thought you were going to hurt him."

"Don't fucking lie to me about how  _sorry_  you are." If he was sorry, Bella wouldn't have been taken away. "He  _deserved to die_  and now  _Bella's gone_  and it's  _because of you_  and I…"

Flinching back at the words, Dipper looked completely wrecked by that. "Bill.."

" _Stop_. I just want to go home."

"...Um, with me?" he asked, so shyly and with insurmountable sadness. "Actually, I— I can just go with Wendy and Mabel."

He didn't want to look at Dipper right now. It felt like a hole had been ripped into his chest again, like  _his_  heart had been torn out and stomped on. Bill didn't bother responding, turning away to head back to the parking lot and his car. The ballmada and his rope had been left behind, he didn't want to see either ever again. What was the point in bringing the dog toys when Bella wouldn't… when she wouldn't be playing with them?

Bill knew Dipper was following him as he walked to the parking lot, despite how he said he'd go with the girls. It was hard to care anymore. Nothing felt worthy of anything but sadness. His Golden girl was taken from him again, like so many times before. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the fireworks show starting, but the mere thought of others being happy while he was so miserable put a bitter taste in his mouth. All he wanted was his dog. What did he do to repeatedly deserve this?

Moving around the hood of his car so he could just ditch this stupid fucking pier, Dipper's hand caught his wrist. "You're not even staying for the fireworks?" he inquired gently. "It's okay if you want to leave, I just thought—"

Bill really didn't want to hang around for some gay ass fireworks, especially now that one of the few things he gave a shit about was  _stolen_  from him. "Is watching them going to magically bring Bella back?" he asked, tone bitter, and if looks were enough to kill, Dipper would be dead where he stood.

Dipper frowned and looked away, giving a broken, "Well, no…"

Of course it wouldn't. It felt like a waste of time, hanging around the pier… but Bill knew one of the last things he wanted was to be more alone and hurt than he already felt. "C'mon," he muttered, "let's watch the dumb fireworks show." Instead of going into his vehicle like he'd planned, he hopped onto the hood and patted the spot beside him, Dipper taking the hint and shuffling onto it.

Raising his eyes to the sky, blooming explosions of color erupted distantly above the pier— reds, greens, whites. It was nothing special to him, but Dipper seemed to be enjoying himself as he watched in awe. The show continued as several minutes passed with them just laying on the hood of his car, Bill spaced out during most of it.

A part of him was numb, in disbelief that he had another dog torn away from him again. He felt hopeless, defeated, like nothing was worth giving any effort anymore because in the end, he'd lose it. Like all his dogs, who his parents had killed. And now Bella, the sweet Goldy that was abandoned by a neglectful owner. She would have been happy with him, she didn't need that  _ass_  of an owner to come for her. Bill knew how to take care of dogs, he loved dogs more than he loved himself, and he was struggling to come to terms with her departure. He could've done it. He would've protected her and loved her, and never let any harm come to her. Bill would have  _killed_  to keep her safe, and he would have in an instant if not for Dipper's intervention.

Dipper...

There was no denying he was still upset with the kid to some degree. He felt hurt, betrayed he'd just…  _give her up_  after discussing their plans in the country. Bella would've loved the beach, would've loved to feel the damp sand beneath her paws as she raced through the water. All of that was gone, and Bill couldn't get it back. He wanted to, so, so badly.

Snapping back to the present, Dipper must have noticed his lack of attention on the fireworks and was hovering over him, peering down with concern. "Do you want to talk about it?" his voice was gentle.

No, he didn't want to talk about how alone, and upset, and plain  _hurt_ he felt. Bill didn't want to tell Dipper about how he was terrified of being alone in that moment, and how the only reason he agreed to stay for the dumb fireworks was because it gave him some form of company. He… didn't want to think about how Dipper was the only consistent company he ever really had, how the others were like waves that would come and go and how alone he was otherwise. The others were friends of convenience, brought together solely by their line of work, and the thought of Dipper leaving in under a month was something he dreaded, knowing that without Pine Tree in his life he was  _nothing_. A forgotten piece, a cog in a machine of criminals. Dipper was his window into reconnecting with a part of himself he actually liked for a change, the part that was more than just some dirtbag, bottom-of-the-line scum waiting to get killed by a cop, the part he'd buried so hard because it didn't have a place in this lifestyle but this kid drew it out of him. The part that Dipper, for some reason, saw something in because he never let him get away with being a cold hearted jackass.

"Don't leave me," Bill finally said, unable to hide how broken his voice was. There was a lump in his throat.

Clearly stunned, Dipper blinked. "Um, what?"

A month wasn't long enough, he couldn't stand to think of what'd happen after Dipper left. He'd just be alone again, no Bella, no true friend that was with him because they honestly liked being around him. "I know Stan wants you to go, but you can't."

Replacing the pure confusion on Dipper's face was a tinge of sadness. "Kind of have to," he gave a breathless laugh but it didn't sound happy. "I can't just… stay with you guys forever."

" _Stay_ ," Bill demanded with more determination, desperate to not lose the only companion he really had. "I'll force Stan to let you. Just… don't leave."

"I don't think…" he seemed to trail off after seeing the sheer despair on his face, sighing. "What am I supposed to do, live out the rest of my life in the penthouse? Doing  _what_?" His questions were genuine and filled with worry, not accusatory. "And it's not like Stan will ever allow that." Dipper laid back down beside him, the bright colors of the fireworks still erupting in the night sky as the show continued. A distant  _BOOM_ and subsequent crackles momentarily derailed his thoughts, but he shook it away, too worried about his own horrible loneliness to focus on that right now.

"Once the month is over, you won't have to be holed up all the time. We can explore the city more, and visit the countryside." The thought of visiting his house by the beach was bittersweet. "You could start going to college again, if you wanted." As long as he  _stayed_ , Bill didn't care. He just… wanted him. "I'll  _ask_  Stan, right now." He reached into his pocket and whipped out his phone, firing off a text to Big Daddy.

 **(11:08 PM)**  hey stan can we keep pine tree forever

 **(11:08 PM)**  think about it, he'll never survive on his own, it's cruelty to just release the kid into the wild

 **(11:08 PM)**  he's accustomed to the lap of luxury

And Bill was damn well going to give it to him, anything he wanted — Bill had enough money to indulge his Pine Tree's wildest desires, and possessed the financial know-how to keep them afloat. With a state under his finger and an essentially endless flow of cash, he was prepared to entertain whatever lifestyle Dipper wanted to have. Anything to keep him from leaving.

A reply was being typed almost instantly, and even Dipper was looking over in interest to find out what his answer was.

 **(11:08 PM)**   _no_

That fucker. He wouldn't let Stan keep Pine Tree from him. Mind racing, a new idea came to him. "Okay, change of plans. I can legally adopt you."

Dipper let out a laugh at the absurdity. "What the heck, dude? You're not going to adopt me, you're like…" he paused, "I don't know, maybe five or six years older than me?"

"Think about it," Bill pressed. "Stan can't tell you to scram if I'm your legal guardian." It was Stan-proof.

"You must really want me to stay if you're suggesting  _adoption_ ," Dipper commented but the tone of his voice implied he didn't realize just how damn serious he was, how serious this whole situation was. "Look, if it means that much to you.. I'll think about staying." But there was very little commitment to the statement, he didn't even seem to give it much thought since he was already watching the fireworks again.

Unsatisfied with that answer, he was back to thinking about how it would be easy to go the adoption route. "It's not a difficult process," Bill said. "I have enough money to get any adoption agency to prioritize us, as well as a.. well, a bunch of friends in legal places." They weren't friends, but he thought it sounded better than 'blackmail victims'. Anything to get Dipper to stay, even if he didn't know much about the real adoption process.

"Jeez, relax," Dipper murmured, shifting closer to him until his head was on his chest. "I'm not going anywhere." A breeze lightly swept over them, and he could feel Pine Tree's lithe frame shiver against him, curling in tighter.

Stars, he was adorable when he was curled up close. Bill could feel the warmth of his body pressed against him, how small and fragile he felt compared to himself, and a surge of fondness and protectiveness swarmed him. No one. NO ONE. Was going to take this kid away from him. Not like his dogs. He could keep this one,  _his_ Pine Tree, safe.

"You cold?" he murmured, shuffling to remove his blazer and put it around Dipper's shoulders, though it covered the entirety of his back as well.

And how he reacted was to die for. Dipper's head raised in surprise, those pupils dilated against brown irises, so huge and appreciative and Bill just wanted to drown in them because they made him absolutely melt. Falling from his plush lips was a murmur of, "Oh— wow, thanks." It sounded caught between disbelief and affection, and Bill felt a rush of heat spark within him as Dipper damn near nuzzled his collarbone, the spot right below where his suspenders crossed over, as he settled back into place to view the remainder of the exploding lights.

He couldn't help but watch him, how snuggled up and downright cute this kid was. Bill was struggling to resist the allure of Dipper's pale lips, and he found himself putting his arm around him, Dipper making a soft noise of contentment. In the process, he had maneuvered him slightly, just enough so Bill was hovering over him and able to steal his lips if he desired.

Gazing at him so very sweetly through lidded eyes, Dipper seemed to be trying to gauge what he was doing, not quite grasping why he was now under Bill. And Bill… he could see the burst of fireworks ignite within Dipper's pupils and as the colors disappeared, they were replaced with tiny glittering stars and his own reflection, a better version of himself and the whole sky seemingly reflecting in this kid's eyes.

He wanted it. Bill wanted to gaze into his eyes forever, to make him his, to protect him so those gorgeous doe-eyes would never lose their beautiful brightness. And without another thought, he had leaned in, lips capturing Dipper's in a kiss.

They were soft, tantalizingly tender and delicate, and the taste of his mouth was sweet, not unlike the chocolate bar he'd eaten earlier. Bill couldn't get enough, wanted and needed more, desperate to kiss him until his lips were wonderfully rosy and swollen. But he felt Dipper's hands pressing into his shoulders, pressing too hard to be a demonstration of his passion and— and the kid was pushing him away, trying to gently shove him back.

Confused by this, Bill drew away, eyes searching Dipper's for the answer. They were GREAT together, Dipper had amazingly sweet lips and he was craving more. Why did he want him to stop?

Dipper looked more pallid than he'd remembered, and significantly more nervous. "I… I think you got the wrong idea," he sputtered, a tremor in his voice.

That was impossible. "I got the right idea," he said, tapping the side of his head. "We're  _perfect_  together, Pine Tree. I don't even care about the dog anymore when all I could want is here. With you."

With a sharp inhale, he shook his head, wordlessly at first like he didn't even know what to say or what was happening. "What are you  _talking_ about?"

"Hey, Pine Tree! I have a  _great_  idea. Let's run away together, leave this shithole. Get married, elope, the works."

By now, those once-delectably wide eyes had turned to fearful pinpricks. " _What_?" Dipper squeaked in alarm, scrambling to sit up and placing more distant between them. "Are you— are you actually  _serious_?" Anxiety and fright were etched in his expression, the shock apparent.

Bill couldn't understand why Dipper seemed so against this. It was a perfect idea for the perfect couple. He  _knew_  they were meant for each other, it was written in the stars and in the depths of Dipper's eyes and in how Dipper had become the only stable thing in his life. "We're already engaged," he reminded him. "We can leave right now. I can get us a marriage certificate."

"It's not a real engagement!" Dipper protested. His attention shifted to his ring and he worked it off of his finger, tucking it away into the pocket of Bill's blazer. "I'm not  _marrying_ you, Bill. That's— don't you see how fucking crazy that is?" Although he sounded completely flabbergasted, Bill was left in the dark as to why; their devotion to one another, their chemistry, was clear enough to him.

"How is it crazy? We were  _made_  for each other." Why couldn't his Pine Tree see that? They could be happy together, Dipper wouldn't have to leave and Bill wouldn't be alone.

Dipper's eyebrows shot higher than he'd ever seen, and he was scooting further up the hood, away from him. "I don't  _know_ you! ...You don't even know me!"

Bill chuckled. "Cutie, we know each other just fine." It was a little under two weeks. That was enough time to get acquainted.

The kid was visibly unnerved, borderline panicked. "Oh my god, Bill. You… you're not kidding, holy shit." The realization seemed to crash over Dipper and to his disappointment, not a rush of affection followed. In fact, the sheer horror on his face couldn't have been farther from that.

And he was bringing his legs over the side of the car to get to his feet, shuffling the jacket off in the process. "I—" he took a step back, "I'm going to go find Wendy and Mabel."

"What?" No, no, no. He said he wouldn't do this. He would stay. Bill slid off the hood, moving to approach Dipper. He seemed adamant on backing away, keeping the same amount of space between them… playing hard to get, Bill believed. "You can't leave. You told me you wouldn't." Pine Tree wouldn't, right…? "Come on, cutie. You don't need those two– we can go together, we can marry and watch the fireworks whenever we want without them." Without those fuckers taking Dipper away from him.

"Bill, stop," it was a frightened whine and the familiarity of the words only added to his desperation to keep Dipper here after everything else had fallen apart, the kid truly looking like he was at a loss for once, "you're scaring me."

"Doll," Bill's voice was soft, "I don't understand. Don't you want this?"

"I. Don't. Know. You." He repeated.

"But you do!" Bill insisted. Did the fireworks turn his brain to mush or something? He was Bill Cipher, for stars' sake!

"No, dude! I don't! We've known each other… for what,  _two weeks_?!"

Why was he denying this? "That's plenty of time to know each other, cutie! Why are you making this so hard on yourself?" Bill couldn't imagine why he wouldn't be jumping at the opportunity, but he realized something. "Is this because of the sex? Oh, my darling honeysuckle," he cooed with gushing affection, "don't worry your stars about that. I'll help you enjoy it."

Dipper was blinking at him again, looking so terrified, and he took a few more steps backward before spinning on his heels and leaving, going back to the pier.

And just like that, he was gone. Bill was alone, standing in the middle of the parking lot. No Dipper, no Bella — terrifyingly on his own, and he felt like a hollowed ghost as he grabbed his blazer and drifted into the driver's seat of his car to think.

He couldn't fathom this reality. He was  _so sure_  they were meant to be together, so why had Dipper reacted in such a manner? Not understanding where he'd gone wrong, he recounted what'd happened: he kissed Dipper, the kid freaked out, and he'd given him the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to marry Bill Cipher.

Pulling down the visor to look at himself in the mirror, he frowned because the version of himself in the mirror didn't seem like the one he'd seen reflected in Dipper's eyes, and he hated it. Even so, in everything he'd done this evening, he'd been nothing but a  _gentleman_.

Except…

Except he hadn't, Bill realized coldly.

There had been little to nothing between them, romantically-speaking, and he had tried to manipulate Dipper into thinking there was, tried to pressure and trick him into believing he desired more from their already fucked up relationship when it was very clearly something he hadn't wanted. Bill wished he could put a bullet through his brain because he'd kept pushing when Dipper had actually said he wasn't interested in anything else.

Neither of them really were, and he figured they both knew it. It'd been a spur of the moment decision on his part, fueled only by the grief of losing Bella.

No fucking wonder no one wanted to be around him. No wonder he was alone, the lingering thought of losing everything he liked in the back of his mind as he wondered if Dipper would even… still talk to him now, after finding out what an atrocious mess he was.

Sifting through the pocket of his slacks, he dug out the pack of cigarettes and stared at it in examination; it was nearly full, but he knew that still wouldn't be enough.

Stars, he needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo.. yeah. Bill's hurting, and has a bad habit of looking for comfort in the wrong ways. Next update (a mini chapter, kind of) is tomorrow.


	11. breathing space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who was unprepared for the avalanche of wonderful comments and ran out of time to reply? But seriously- thank you all. Shoutouts and much appreciation to: Bendy's Sister, Anonymous, Piqued Penguin, Guest, Shockline, zeo_nulla, senaxeth, ProjectIcarus, KennTheRat, & Just_Some_Chick. Holy fluff you folks are amazing, and we'll be working on responses to your comments over the next couple of days.
> 
> Experimental mini chapter. Most likely will be the only one that occurs only via messages, things will be back to the usual style in subsequent updates.
> 
> Warning(s): slurs, implied substance abuse, suicidal thoughts, hard-to-read text (if you'd prefer the unscrambled version, let us know? we got you covered)

( **11:49 PM)**   _the stars are screaming at me_

( **11:49 PM)** _that i fucked up_

( **11:50 PM)**  Yeah I can hear them from here heh...

( **11:50 PM)** _it's like i'm drowning_

( **11:50 PM)** _i can't stop hearing them_

( **11:52 PM)**   _im sorry_

( **11:53 PM)**  It's okay

( **11:53 PM)**   _no_

( **11:53 PM)** _it's not_

( **11:53 PM)** _i fucked up_

( **11:53 PM)** _i shouldn't have done tha_

( **11:53 PM)** _t_

( **11:54 PM)** I get it, you were sad over Bella

( **11:54 PM)** I mean yeah you shouldn't have but it's done

( **11:54 PM)** Look, it's fine, really

( **11:54 PM)** _you were scared_

( **11:55 PM)** _like a kitten who got beat_

( **11:55 PM)** _i can't get it out of my mind_

( **11:55 PM)** I'm not scared of you dude, you're a big dork

( **11:56 PM)** I was just confused and kinda worried

( **11:56 PM)** I'm still worried, actually

( **11:56 PM)** Where are you? Mabel and I are already back at the penthouse, Wendy left a couple minutes ago

( **11:57 PM)** _on a shoulder somewhere_

( **11:57 PM)** Encouraging a cartoon character to make a bad decision?

( **11:58 PM)** _no_

( **11:58 PM)** Ugh I'm sorry, I know that was bad. It's weird I guess

( **11:58 PM)** Things with us

( **11:58 PM)** _the stars are angry with me_

( **11:58 PM)** _i need a drink_

( **11:58 PM)** You already smoke, can you give the lifespan reducing habits a break for just a second? So we can figure this out?

( **11:59 PM)** _if i die young it'll reduce the lifespan of a fuckup_

( **11:59 PM)** Chill, you're not a fuckup

( **11:59 PM)** _everything's awkward and shitty with us now, pine tree_

( **11:59 PM)** _i fucked up_

( **11:59 PM)** I was going to ask

( **12:00 AM)** You don't WANT to marry me, right?

( **12:00 AM)** _no…_

( **12:00 AM)** _no_

( **12:02 AM)** _the only person i'll marry is me_

( **12:02 AM)** Did you start drinking already or something, you're being extra narcissistic

( **12:02 AM)** _i like you but not like that_

( **12:02 AM)** Didn't think I'd ever hear you say that

( **12:06 AM)** _if i drink all the booze in a liquor store would i die_

( **12:06 AM)** Yeah because I'd kill you

( **12:06 AM)** Seriously don't do that

( **12:07 AM)** _pine tree_

( **12:07 AM)** Bill

( **12:08 AM)** _see ya on the other side :)_

( **12:08 AM)** For fuck's sake

( **12:08 AM)** Don't make this worse

* * *

( **3:03 AM)**   _heqy cuftie_

( **3:03 AM)** _i dpno't know ewhere i aim_

( **3:04 AM)** _pi like vbutts_

( **3:04 AM)** Bill wtf it's 3 am

( **3:04 AM)** Ugh

( **3:04 AM)** Also why do you and Mabel text me about butts so much

( **3:04 AM)** You're drunk, aren't you

( **3:04 AM)** I told you not to do that

( **3:07 AM)** _wjhy are tehe lights flkashing_

( **3:07 AM)** _itq's likpe thie Ragve_

( **3:07 AM)** You're at a rave?

( **3:07 AM)** You know what, never mind. I'm getting Stan

( **3:08 AM)** _dno ni don't wtan umy adaddy_

( **3:08 AM)** Well you're getting him

( **3:09 AM)** _njo dayddy_

( **3:09 AM)** _nonly yommm_

( **3:09 AM)**...?

( **3:09 AM)** Mommy?

( **3:09 AM)** You want me to get Ford?

( **3:10 AM)** Do you know where you are at all?

( **3:10 AM)** Where were you last?

( **3:11 AM)** _in ouyr hmouth :(_

( **3:11 AM)** _that swhere i was jslat_

( **3:11 AM)** I swear to god Bill

( **3:11 AM)** Don't be difficult about this

( **3:12 AM)** I don't even care about the kiss

( **3:13 AM)** Are you okay?

( **3:13 AM)** _i am GRETA_

( **3:13 AM)** _the stalrs dfance_

( **3:13 AM)** You are so drunk

( **3:14 AM)** _you are_

( **3:14 AM)** _so...u...y_

( **3:14 AM)** _...o..._

( **3:14 AM)** Are you at a bar? I could give you a ride back

( **3:15 AM)** If you don't mind me taking one of your vehicles

( **3:17 AM)** _you can't drive you're drnku_

( **3:17 AM)** No?

( **3:17 AM)** I'm not

( **3:17 AM)** I'm freaking tired because you woke me up but it's whatever

( **3:18 AM)** _ji can leacve you ahlone_

( **3:18 AM)** No, don't

( **3:19 AM)** _pyou sleep_

( **3:19 AM)** I want to make sure you're okay so cooperate for a change

( **3:20 AM)** _i got another bottle oyf adams to kewep me xcompany_

( **3:20 AM)**  Dude stop drinking

( **3:20 AM)**  I'll keep you company if you really need it

( **3:20 AM)**   _no yuo_

( **3:21 AM)**   _neo you slewep_

( **3:21 AM)**  I'm not going to sleep

( **3:22 AM)**   _iyes you wifll_

( **3:22 AM)**  Nope, tell me where you are

( **3:27 AM)**   _hery ycutie_

( **3:27 AM)**   _i jlike how teh stars look liek toyur birthmakr_

( **3:28 AM)**   _sit reminds me olf you_

( **3:28 AM)**  Yeah I know

( **3:28 AM)**  You touch it basically all the time

( **3:28 AM)**   _do you think i cofuld be a tsar_

( **3:28 AM)**  Sure, but first are you somewhere safe at least

( **3:29 AM)**  I'm wide awake, let me help

( **3:32 AM)**   _i don't wneed help_

( **3:32 AM)**   _only ehte cosmvos_

( **3:32 AM)**  Don't care

( **3:33 AM)**  You're getting help whether you need it or not

( **3:33 AM)**   _sgleep pidne htroat_

( **3:34 AM)**   _such msoft sktars_

( **3:34 AM)**  You're being more frustrating than usual

( **3:34 AM)**  And that's a feat

( **3:34 AM)**   _they sing to hme_

( **3:34 AM)** _sayng joni us_

( **3:35 AM)**   _and i rly want too_

( **3:35 AM)**  There's plenty of time to be a star in a musical later

( **3:35 AM)**  But for now, don't drink any more

( **3:35 AM)**   _no_

( **3:35 AM)**   _you fon'tt get yit_

( **3:36 AM)** _i want tlo be one fo pthem_

( **3:36 AM)**   _TBHEM_

( **3:36 AM)**   _i want to be lceletsiall_

( **3:36 AM)**  Celestial beings don't tongue bottles of Sam Adams

( **3:36 AM)**   _i cjhug_

( **3:36 AM)**  They don't do that either dumbass

( **3:37 AM)**   _fucdk ytou_

( **3:37 AM)**   _gooodbye_

( **3:37 AM)**  Are you fucking serious

* * *

( **5:14 AM)**  Hi

( **9:48 AM)**  Hello?

( **10:05 AM)**  Bill?

( **12:12 PM)**  Come on dude, I'm worried

( **2:38 PM)**  Your Russian accent sucks

( **2:59 PM)**  To be honest I thought for sure that'd get a reply, are you okay?

( **3:52 PM)**  Bill

( **6:14 PM)**  Billllll

( **7:02 PM)**  Where are you, it's been like a day

( **9:21 PM)**  It's rude to ignore your heterosexual life partner

( **11:02 PM)**  Just answer me when you get a chance okay?

( **11:02 PM)**  Even Stan's kinda concerned since nobody's seen you

( **11:25 PM)**  I hope you're alright

* * *

( **2:18 PM)**   _hey sugar_

( **2:18 PM)**  Omg FINALLY

( **2:18 PM)**  I never thought I'd actually be excited over a text from you

( **2:19 PM)**   _i'm not alright_

( **2:19 PM)**   _i've been staring at this gun for like, three hours_

( **2:19 PM)**   _contemplating if i should just end it all_

( **2:19 PM)**  Holy shit Bill

( **2:19 PM)**  Don't you dare

( **2:19 PM)**  If you do that I'll never speak to you again

( **2:19 PM)**   _a little hard to talk to me if my brains are all over the car_

( **2:20 PM)**  Exactly

( **2:20 PM)**   _smartass_

( **2:20 PM)**  You love it

( **2:20 PM)**   _yeah_

( **2:20 PM)**   _i shouldn't_

( **2:21 PM)**  Why not? I'll have you know I'm unbelievably lovable

( **2:24 PM)**   _everything i love_

( **2:24 PM)**   _goes away in the end_

( **2:24 PM)**  I can guarantee I'll never stop sassing you dude

( **2:24 PM)**  You just make it too easy

( **2:24 PM)**   _no_

( **2:25 PM)**   _you'll just get taken away from me_

( **2:25 PM)**   _like everything else_

( **2:25 PM)**  I already told you I wasn't

( **2:25 PM)**  I'm stuck with you, so you can't leave either

( **2:27 PM)**   _okay_

( **2:27 PM)**  Okay?

( **2:27 PM)**   _yes_

( **2:28 PM)**  You better not be thinking about it still

( **2:28 PM)**  You didn't let me jump

( **2:28 PM)**  You're not getting out either

( **2:29 PM)**   _you couldn't hold me back with those noodle arms of yours_

( **2:29 PM)**  And yet you still indulge me

( **2:29 PM)**  Weird, huh?

( **2:29 PM)**   _get used to it pine tree_

( **2:30 PM)**  I'm going to assume that means you're not going anywhere

( **2:30 PM)**  You're still a cockroach

( **2:30 PM)**   _maybe someone else'll get me_

( **2:30 PM)**  Get you? Dude nobody GETS you

( **2:30 PM)**  We just put up with your weirdness because it's great

( **2:31 PM)**   _get me as in shoot me_

( **2:32 PM)**  ….

( **2:32 PM)**  Bill..

( **2:32 PM)**  That's not cool

( **2:32 PM)**   _relax cutie_

( **2:33 PM)**  No

( **2:33 PM)**   _you're always so stiff_

( **2:33 PM)**   _and it's not even your dick_

( **2:33 PM)**  I'm not going to relax if you're basically telling me you might die

( **2:34 PM)**   _let's be real here sugar_

( **2:34 PM)**   _every day one of us might die_

( **2:34 PM)**   _it's just how life is_

( **2:34 PM)**  I was SO worried about you and now you do this

( **2:34 PM)**   _look i'm not dead yet_

( **2:35 PM)**   _maybe fordsy level of intelligent now..._

( **2:35 PM)**   _actually no i can't get that low_

( **2:37 PM)**  Don't make me stop talking to you

( **2:37 PM)**   _hey_

( **2:37 PM)**  What now

( **2:37 PM)**   _my head is killing me_

( **2:37 PM)**  Oh

( **2:38 PM)**  Number of fucks your Pine Tree gives: 0

( **2:38 PM)**  You should've listened to me when I told you to stop drinking

( **2:38 PM)**  Just take some ibuprofen and stay hydrated, okay?

( **2:38 PM)** _i knew you didn't give fucks_

( **2:38 PM)** _that's why you're a virgin_

( **2:39 PM)**  Number of fucks you'll get from me: 0

( **2:39 PM)**   _number of fucks anyone gets from you: 0_

( **2:39 PM)** _forever tight_

( **2:41 PM)** _so hey cutie, i thought of something_

( **2:41 PM)** Wow, must've been hard work for you

( **2:41 PM)** _you remember when you brought up the god that is hugh hefner?_

( **2:41 PM)** Yeah, also I'm not being a playboy bunny for you

( **2:42 PM)** _aw damn_

( **2:42 PM)** _you'd make a good one_

( **2:42 PM)** _such a good bun_

( **2:42 PM)** _maybe i should get bunny ears for you.._

( **2:42 PM)** Well, you'd make a lame Hugh Hefner

( **2:43 PM)** You need to be a lot older and more Viagra-dependent

( **2:43 PM)** _oh_

( **2:43 PM)** _so stan_

( **2:43 PM)** Sure. I'll be a playboy bunny for him, why not

( **2:44 PM)** _i guess if you have a daddy kink_

( **2:44 PM)** Not really, but still more appealing than you

( **2:44 PM)** _says the kid who begged me to not kill myself_

( **2:44 PM)** Stan would've made me clean your stupid brains out of the car since he probably thinks we're dating

( **2:46 PM)** _if i set up my vehicle to drive into the ocean afterwards that'd help with the mess_

( **2:46 PM)** This isn't really a conversation I want to be having, dude

( **2:46 PM)** Don't hurt yourself

( **2:47 PM)** _the world's so shitty_

( **2:47 PM)** Would be more shitty without you

( **2:47 PM)** _don't be a fag kid_

( **2:47 PM)** Nope, you tease me about it all the time so now you have to accept my undying crush

( **2:47 PM)** _you're like the hot n cold song_

( **2:48 PM)** The one by Katy Perry?

( **2:48 PM)** _yeah, first you love me then you hate me_

( **2:48 PM)** _i kiss you and you leave_

( **2:48 PM)** Is this because I rejected your MARRIAGE proposal?

( **2:49 PM)** _look i could make a good housewife out of you_

( **2:51 PM)** You're not allowed to make any housewife comments but...

( **2:51 PM)** Do you want to have dinner at the penthouse?

( **2:51 PM)** I'm cooking tonight

( **2:53 PM)** _never thought i'd hear the day_

( **2:53 PM)** _you'd want me around for dinner_

( **2:54 PM)** Pays off to not kill yourself, doesn't it?

( **2:54 PM)** But you kinda flipped your shit over it a few days ago

( **2:54 PM)** So as long as you aren't a jackass, you're invited

( **2:55 PM)** _i'll try to behave…..mom_

( **2:55 PM)** You're uninvited

( **2:55 PM)** _well fuck_

( **2:55 PM)** _time to KMS_

( **2:55 PM)** BILL

( **2:56 PM)** _what_

( **2:56 PM)** Don't joke about that right now

( **2:56 PM)** _it was a good opportunity_

( **2:56 PM)** _anyway_

( **2:56 PM)** _i'll be back at the penthouse later_

( **2:57 PM)** Have fun watching the rest of us eat, you fuckwad

( **2:57 PM)** _i'm still uninvited?_

( **2:57 PM)** Yeah, you had literally one job

( **2:57 PM)** To not be a jackass

( **2:57 PM)** And you decided to be a jackass

( **2:58 PM)** _i guess i'll just pull a mabel and take your food_

( **2:58 PM)** She's the only one allowed to take my food

( **2:58 PM)** Because I actually like her

( **2:58 PM)** _oh okay_

( **2:59 PM)** _i see how it is_

( **3:01 PM)** _well if i steal stan's booze stash and frame you, it's not my fault :)_

( **3:01 PM)** Can't frame me. I'm under 21, remember?

( **3:01 PM)** _oh please, no one follows that law_

( **3:01 PM)** _just because you can't buy it doesn't mean you can't drink it_

( **3:02 PM)** Haven't ever tried it

( **3:02 PM)** _i'll fix that ;)_

( **3:02 PM)**?

( **3:02 PM)** _i think you'll like it_

( **3:03 PM)** Not really because I'd probably be a drunken idiot like you

( **3:03 PM)** _i'm not asking you to try a lot, pine tree_

( **3:03 PM)** _a little won't get you drunk_

( **3:03 PM)** Is this so you'll have a chance to kiss me and not get pushed away..?

( **3:06 PM)** _no_

( **3:06 PM)** _i don't want to do that_

( **3:07 PM)** Okay. Honestly, it's still kinda weird to me

( **3:07 PM)** I know you didn't mean anything by it, but I wish that hadn't been my first kiss

( **3:07 PM)** Ah sorry

( **3:07 PM)** I don't want to offend you — not right now at least. I guess it was nice, just not exactly… what I expected?

( **3:07 PM)** I don't know, it's hard to describe

( **3:10 PM)** _you deserve a better one_

( **3:11 PM)** It doesn't matter, it's not a big deal

( **3:11 PM)** Also, you're the only one crazy enough to kiss me

( **3:11 PM)** _don't sell yourself short, pine tree_

( **3:11 PM)** Oh fuck off

( **3:11 PM)** I know that's a height joke

( **3:12 PM)** And I fucking hate you so damn much

( **3:12 PM)** _sorry you can't get rid of me so easily_

( **3:12 PM)** Is this why you didn't let me jump

( **3:12 PM)** So you could punish me with this

( **3:12 PM)** _those tiny feet can't crush my cockroach armor_

( **3:12 PM)** THEY'RE SIZE EIGHT ASSHAT

( **3:13 PM)** _size eight in kids_

( **3:14 PM)** I'm leaving

( **3:14 PM)** _bye cutie_

( **3:14 PM)** _see you at dinner_

* * *

( **1:50 PM)** _so sugar_

( **1:50 PM)** _are we good_

( **1:52 PM)** That's kind of vague

( **1:52 PM)** _is that a yes_

( **1:52 PM)** Are we good ... actors? No, just you. Good crossdressers? Just me.

( **1:52 PM)** See I don't know what you're asking

( **1:53 PM)** _are we on good terms_

( **1:53 PM)** Questionable after what you did at dinner last night but

( **1:53 PM)** Are you done being a total jerk yet?

( **1:53 PM)** _i meant over what happened at the pier_

( **1:53 PM)** _but no_

( **1:53 PM)** _a tiger can't change his stripes kid_

( **1:53 PM)** Bumblebee* :)

( **1:53 PM)** _fuckyoubee_

( **1:54 PM)** Buzz buzz motherfucker

( **1:54 PM)** _buzz off_

( **1:56 PM)** _but seriously pine tree, you gotta tell me if we're good_

( **1:56 PM)** _shit's awkward enough with me and red, you and i don't need to add to that_

( **1:56 PM)** _and i didn't even sleep with you_

( **1:59 PM)** Um..

( **1:59 PM)** _no, got it_

( **1:59 PM)** _time to burn down the penthouse_

( **2:00 PM)** Dude, why is it constantly the extremes with you

( **2:00 PM)** And how would that even help?

( **2:00 PM)** _because if i can't have you..._

( **2:01 PM)** _no one can :)_

( **2:01 PM)** Hey, maybe you can

( **2:01 PM)** Just gotta turn on that Bill Cipher charm

( **2:01 PM)** _pretty sure you have a natural Bill Resistance_

( **2:01 PM)** Oh no that's just an aversion to dumbasses

( **2:02 PM)** _yet you talk to me anyway_

( **2:02 PM)** You entertain me, cutie!

( **2:02 PM)** Yes, I am mocking you

( **2:03 PM)** _i can mock you too_

( **2:03 PM)** _oh look at me i'm pine tree, i'm so smart and everyone else is dumb but shooting star since she's my sister and i love her don't you look at her i'll fight you with my noodle arms_

( **2:03 PM)** Oh right I punched you in the jaw and it was amazing

( **2:03 PM)** I feel bad over that still, but it was kind of satisfying

( **2:03 PM)** _it was like a kitten licked me_

( **2:04 PM)** Mm I have to say, you're not quite on the path to winning me back

( **2:04 PM)** _same_

( **2:04 PM)** Resort to burning it down?

( **2:04 PM)** _i'll burn you up_

( **2:04 PM)** I'm already too hot for you

( **2:05 PM)** _you'll be even hotter when i pour gasoline over you and light you up_

( **2:05 PM)** Shall I get ready to run down Main Avenue?

( **2:05 PM)** _yes_

( **2:06 PM)** _i'll record it and post it to vine_

( **2:06 PM)** Vine's dead you dinosaur

( **2:06 PM)**   _i'll make a new one_

( **2:06 PM)** _Vine 2.0_

( **2:06 PM)** Ooaaauuuoooo

( **2:06 PM)** That's the noise dinosaurs like you make

( **2:07 PM)** Okay but VINEOSAUR

( **2:07 PM)** That's what you are

( **2:08 PM)** _don't make me kill you_

( **2:08 PM)** I'm too short for your tiny T-rex arms to reach

( **2:08 PM)** _bye_

( **2:09 PM)** Wait

( **2:09 PM)** _no_

( **2:09 PM)** I wasn't done making fun of you, get back here

( **2:10 PM)** Bill

( **2:10 PM)** Come on

( **2:12 PM)** This is really super important

( **2:12 PM)** _did timmy fall down the well, lassie?_

( **2:12 PM)** _if not then it can't be that important_

( **2:12 PM)** Woof bring me Pop-Tarts when you come over later, we ran out

( **2:14 PM)** Please

( **2:14 PM)** _i'll bring you the crumbs ;)_

( **2:14 PM)** _seriously, though. i'll bring your dumb poptarts_

( **2:15 PM)** _what flavor_

( **2:15 PM)** _strawberry right?_

( **2:15 PM)** Yeah

( **2:16 PM)** You're still the worst but thanks <3

( **2:16 PM)** _don't mention it pine tree_

( **2:17 PM)** _i'll be there in a few hours with your poptarts_

( **2:17 PM)** _just be glad i'm not gonna make you thank me with a kiss_

( **2:17 PM)** Dude

( **2:17 PM)** _too soon huh?_

( **2:18 PM)** Just bring the Pop-Tarts

( **2:19 PM)** _yes dear_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update doesn't have a definitive release day since we're a little behind schedule, but we're hoping for Sunday (ideally) or Mondayish.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Violence, blood, underage drinking, slurs. 
> 
> Remember when I said there probably wouldn't be longer chapters? Yeah, let's pretend that never happened. We considered splitting this one but thought that would be kind of evil, so enjoy having this complete 11k word update.

One loud  _BANG_ had the cashier's brains splattered against the back wall of the convenience store, body falling to a mangled heap while Bill watched through the scope of his gun, lowering it after a moment. Robbie was busy trying to count the money they'd gotten from the register and the safe, holding it up inches from his face since he seemed to be struggling to see through his raven mask. A string of curses tumbled from him. "Ivan's going to  _fuck_ us. This isn't nearly enough."

Bill stepped around the counter to examine the cashier's corpse, taking his gold colored watch from around his wrist and sliding it into a pocket with a mental note to drop it off at his place in Paleto Bay. The cashier wouldn't be needing this anymore. "No shit, it's a convenient store. Not a bank." What did he expect? They were walking away from this with a decent amount all things considered.

The reply was harsh, "We don't have the manpower anymore to take a bank." Robbie glared for a second, then went back to organizing the cash. Overreacting as was the norm, he went on, "You want to deal with this? Fine, you take the fucking money to Ivan. Enjoy getting a hole in your head after he realizes you can't pay up."

"You're the one in debt, Valentino. Remember that." Ivan could try to shoot him, Bill could outgun him any day. Unlike Robbie the bitch, he wasn't afraid to stand up to the other gang. He grabbed the cash from Robbie and, on the way out, a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts for the kid. Nobody would miss it or even notice its disappearance.

The thought of Dipper reminded him that he was needed for one of Stan's dumb meetings, and he swore softly under his breath. There wasn't enough time in the day to deal with all this bullshit. Outside, he didn't hang around– after he deposited the gun into the trunk, Bill got in his car without waiting for Thompson or Robbie.

"Where are you going?" Thompson's voice cracked outside the door, the brown bear mask pressing against his window. "The cops are coming, dude!"

"Yeah, so find another way out of here. Not my problem." But he'd probably get chewed out by either Robbie or Gideon later. He stepped on the gas, car shooting down the street and once he was certain he was out of view of police or any other witnesses, he tucked the owl mask and top hat away.

By the time he arrived at the door to the penthouse, he was gasping for air. He'd slipped into a change of clothes, rushed up from the garage, conquered the several flights of stairs in between, and now he was ready to collapse in a heap of exhaustion. Stars, he wished he was a celestial being and not just when he was drunk. He wouldn't be trapped in such an easily-fatigued form.

Upon entering, he was greeted by the sound of Mabel's whining. "Come on, Stan! Pleaseeee? Dipper and I  _really_  want to help out!"

Stan and Ford were on the sectional sofa with maps on the coffee table and a whiteboard nearby, meanwhile Mabel and Dipper hovered over their shoulders like two helicopter parents.

"Mabel, I'm okay with sitting this one out and maybe you should too." Dipper sounded concerned, and hadn't sensed his presence yet, seemingly too distracted by his discussion with Stan and Mabel.

Stan's voice was a bark, "I said no, sweetie! This is too dangerous for you two! Seriously, the last thing you kids want is a criminal record under your belts. You have a hell of a lot more potential than these clowns." He jabbed his finger back at Bill and Ford. Ouch. But neither twin seemed to notice, Mabel voicing various reasons why they would be an asset to them and Dipper giving anxious reminders of how dangerous it was.

"Stanley, try to focus," Ford chided. "There's a lot of information to get through."

"How can I?! These little brats keep fluttering around me like annoying birds! Shoo, you two! Especially you Mabel! We have work to do."

Despite voicing his agreement and trying to lead Mabel away from the brothers, Dipper seemed to give up when it was clear she wasn't budging, and he glanced away in frustration. His gaze swept the room only to land on him, brightening instantly as he rushed over. "Did you bring them?" It was an excited question, almost childishly so over  _a box of Pop-Tarts_. Jesus, maybe he should try courting him with a napkin or a stick and then the kid would let him smash. He'd give him some yellow.

"Hi cutie, you look like you're having fun without me." Bill didn't care to involve himself in the drama that was Mabel wanting to go on a heist. It wasn't his problem. "Of course I did. Here ya go, sugar." He pulled the box of strawberry Pop-Tarts out of his bag, careful to hide the money within.

He'd never seen anyone snatch something away faster than Dipper did with the Pop-Tarts. "I usually do have fun without you. It's surprisingly easy." Dipper didn't wait for a response, slipping into the kitchen while the box was held tightly in those thieving hands of his.

He didn't believe that Dipper could have fun without him for a second, but the sound of Stan yelling at  _him_  stole his attention away from the departing kid. Damn, he wanted to sneak in after Dipper and grab that little ass. Hadn't had a chance to do that recently, not that he was surprised after he pulled an embarrassing move on Dipper during a moment of weakness. He didn't want to test the boundaries further by pushing his limits, but at least he got a dinner with Dipper's cooking out of it. Despite supposedly being uninvited, he'd still cheekily managed to steal food, to which Dipper squawked and bitched at him all night over and when it came to his cooking… well, the kid wasn't bad with his noodle fingers. "Hey, asshole! Why the fuck were ya late?"

"Sorry Daddy, you're not my priority."

Stan glowered at him. "I should be! You–"

"Quit bickering," Ford said sternly. "We've already wasted enough time as it is, and now that Bill is here, we can continue without an issue. Reprimand him later."

Much to Bill's amusement, Stan still looked like he wanted to kill him for being late even as he took a seat on the sofa. Sucked to be Stan, they all knew Ford was the one behind the Big Daddy's bravado.

It always annoyed Bill how both the Owls and the Ravagers INSISTED on going over the heist plan even after they did recon. Bill already knew the plan, and he didn't care about the  _small details_  they tried to pound into him. He was more of a 'go with the flow' kind of guy, more wiggle room if things went awry.

Something, something, something, rob an armored car full of money, something something. Yes, he got it. Where was SparkNotes when he needed it? "Cut to the chase, Stan. I'm not Soos. He's not even here right now."

"He would be, if we hadn't had time to go over the entire mission plan with him  _and_ Wendy before you even arrived, jackass."

"I'm glad that's catching on," Dipper said in reference to the name, a Pop-Tart in hand as he plopped himself down on the sectional sofa next to Mabel.

Bill could hear Mabel whining about how the mission plan wasn't complete without them, but he was focused on Dipper. He scowled at him, and made a point of darting over to the couch to snatch the Pop-Tart from his hands. "Guess you don't want this!"

Dipper—that conniving little fuck—seized his moment of distraction to dart a hand out and retract it quickly, clutching… clutching  _his fucking bowtie_. "Guess you don't want this."

Of course, he did the only rational thing a man in this situation could do. He shoved the Pop-Tart in Dipper's mouth, ignoring the crumbs from the broken pastry and angry muffled  _mmph!_ noise that came from the back of Dipper's throat, and used that opportunity to retrieve his bowtie.

"Knock it off you two!" Bill heard Stan hollering, but he really couldn't care less.

Instead, he snickered at Pine Tree, who was trying to work down the giant mouthful of Pop-Tart while recovering any chunks of pastry that he could. "Enjoying your Pop-Tart?"

Glaring, Dipper flipped him off with both hands.

"Aw, it seems I've left you struggling for words. Don't worry cutie, there are more Pop-Tarts where that came from." There was a muffled but very clear 'fuck you' directed at him.

Mabel giggled at that. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" In a lower voice, she added: "Kiss! Kiss!" Bill's blood ran cold. ...Did Dipper tell her about… that? There was a sinking feeling in his chest that he had, and he realized he'd need to talk to him, alone.

Turning back to Dipper, he didn't have a chance to say anything before Ford exasperatedly snapped, " _Try_  to control yourself, Cipher."

Bill looked at Ford with a weak grin. "I'm not the one cussing, Big Hen." Like the Big Mommy to Stan's Big Daddy, just with owls.

Ford sighed. "But you  _are_ an adult, aren't you? At times, I wonder."

"I'm more of an adult than you are, Mr. Can't Get Laid."

"When was the last time  _you_ got laid?" Dipper challenged teasingly, cutting into the conversation now that he'd gotten the Pop-Tart fiasco taken care of, but Bill still wanted to have a chat with him about Mabel.

He smirked at Dipper. "More recently than you, virgin Mary. Anyway, are we done with the heist rundown bullshit? I got stuff I need to do." Specifically, he needed to take care of what was in his bag. That exchange with Blind Ivan wasn't going to resolve itself.

"No!" Mabel exclaimed to Stan. "You haven't told me what we're going to do for the heist! You can't leave us out of it!"

Dipper pointed out, "Actually, I think he can—"

"And I will," Stan finished. "Heist rundown's over, thank fuck. I thought it'd never be done with you two idiots fucking around and fighting, even Mabel was better behaved."

She pouted despite his semi-compliment, sinking into the couch with a dejected expression. "Dippy and I can be helpful! It's not fair!" Life wasn't fair, but Bill didn't care enough to tell her that. Maybe she'd learn in another twenty years.

It seemed she was almost immediately over it, anyway, with how she jumped up from the couch after a moment and headed into the kitchen.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Daddy."

Under his breath, Dipper muttered, "Well, you  _are_ an idiot."

Bill laughed at Dipper. "I'm not the one who couldn't stay in college. I graduated  _early_." Top of his class in both high school and college. He was proud of his academic prowess.

"You texted me 'I like butts.' Nice going, graduate."

"I was  _drunk_ , dumbass." He could murder this kid, here and now. Sometimes he wanted to. Out of the corner of his eye, Bill could see Stan frustratedly throwing his arms up in the air and leaving the room, with Ford following close behind.

"Drunk off lust for my adorable butt."

Spurred on by a burst of anger, he couldn't resist the opportunity and snarled, "Drunk off the thought of dying from an overdose. You fucking like that, Pine Tree?" It wasn't that he didn't think Dipper's ass was cute, or that he was really mad  _at_  him, it was the implication of him being a homosexual and a reminder of Mabel's chant. Bill still felt a little betrayed that he told her about… that kiss.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Dipper seemed stunned and cast his eyes downward, fidgeting with the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Fuck. That familiar post-kiss awkwardness was back in the space between them, the one he'd been trying to avoid, the one they'd both been trying to ignore was an issue. But it was more pronounced when they were the only two here, nobody else to act as a buffer between them as they had been before. His hands moved to the shirt's buttons for seconds that felt like minutes that turned into imaginary hours, he finally muttered, "Bill.."

He hated that awkwardness more than he hated himself. "What?" his voice dropped, losing the edge of anger in replacement of tiredness. "You going to tell me more about how fucking stupid I am, Pine Tree?"

A shuddering exhale escaped Dipper, and he shook his head. He looked uncertain, like he was trying to judge the situation but couldn't quite get a hold on it, and soon gave up entirely with a defeated, "I'm going to get another Pop-Tart. Do you want anything?" That gave Bill pause, the kid  _never_ asked if he wanted anything before — just gave him things he didn't like, such as defiant sass or ridiculous temper tantrums.

"No." Bill was beginning to want to hit the bottle again, but he didn't need the kid getting him alcohol. Why did things have to be so fucked up between them? He just wanted to return to the way it had been before and didn't know why they couldn't seem to fall back into place. "I hope it's as fruity as you are."

As he rose from the sofa to go to the kitchen, Dipper attempted to shoot a pathetic half smile in his direction but it looked hollow, more like a grimace. Then, he disappeared through the small entryway.

After a couple minutes, Bill began to head toward the door and picked up the bag he'd dropped there. He had no purpose here now, and he still needed to bring the cash to the other crew. "I'm leaving," he called out as he rested his hand on the doorknob. Waiting.

The sounds of footsteps rushing toward him came with satisfaction. Good. Dipper  _should_ be running after him– he was a catch after all.

It wasn't Dipper. His expression fell flat.

Mabel was dashing into the room like she was being chased by a serial killer. "Where're you going? Can I come?" She gasped. "Can you take me to Pacifica?"

But hearing the commotion, Dipper did wander out of the kitchen with an already almost-eaten pastry in hand, watching the two from a distance.

"Uh… okay." He didn't really want to, but it wasn't horribly out of his way. And maybe it'd get her to shut her yap, he was getting a little tired of it.

The tiniest flicker of unhappiness was written across Dipper's expression. Finishing the last of the pastry, he advanced toward them while saying, "I'll go with too. Not to Pacifica's, but..." a shrug ended his sentence, signaling he really didn't know where he was going.

Oh, so he  _finally_  decided he wanted to join the party. "Fine." Bill didn't wait for them, swinging open the door and heading downstairs to the garage.

* * *

Bored and impatient, his eyes moved to his vehicle's digital clock. This was taking  _forever_ , how long did they need just to say some dumb goodbyes?

The twins stood outside of the vehicle, Dipper leaned against the closed passenger door while they chatted, and it seemed the discussion was ending at last with a hug as Mabel departed, and Dipper got back into the car.

And they were alone again, just him and Dipper, and he knew the awkwardness would inevitably make an inconvenient reappearance in their lives. For now, Bill tried to ignore that and took the car out of park, leaving the Northwests' huge mansion gates in the rear view mirror.

"So where are we going?" Dipper asked, peering at him.

We? "I have some business  _I_ have to take care of. You're not going in with me." Because if he did, he'd probably fuck them both over and get them killed with his nerdiness. This was the real world, not a canvas Dipper could stroke whenever he wanted in whichever way he cared to.

"Don't need a crossdressing date this time?" Dipper asked, snarkiness returning. Maybe that was a good start on the road to normalcy between them.

"No, sorry cutie but I don't  _need_  you that frequently. You only joined me last time because Stacey didn't seem to think crossdressers existed."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you don't need me," he rolled his eyes, "because if you did, I'm sure you wouldn't have just left without making a show of it."

He scowled faintly at him. "I lingered in case your sister or you decided you wanted to hitch a ride. I  _don't_  need you, Pine Tree. If anything,  _you_  need me." Because without Bill, would Dipper even have a friend?

"Sure, I do," Dipper scoffed. "Without you around, who would make crude sexual comments at the worst times or grab my ass?"

"Stan." Not really, but he wouldn't tell Dipper otherwise.

There was the tiniest, fleeting smile on the kid's lips. "As if. He's not nearly as enamored with me."

"I'm not enamored with you. Stop being so obsessed with me, kid."

He gave a shrug. "Don't want me to boost your massive ego from now on? Fine, I won't."

A part of Bill craved the attention and enjoyed it, but another wanted to dive out onto the road because  _he wasn't a fucking fag_. "Are you going to actually stop?"

"Yep," he responded simply, "it's probably for the best. Your ego's huge, dude. Compensating for something?"

"Your lack of a personality."

Dipper laughed at that. Bill wanted to crash the vehicle and kill them both. "You could've done so much better, and I don't just mean with that reply."

He didn't get Dipper's response at first, caught up in the thought of it being all about  _him_. "Fuck off, kid. I'm not the lost puppy here. You can't go anywhere without clinging to my side."

With a tight sigh, he said, "Calm down, I meant the kiss."

"Oh,  _that_. You want to explain why you told Mabel about it?" Anger crept in his voice. "I thought you wanted to pretend it never happened, but she seemed  _awfully_  eager to see it in action."

Dipper waited until he was done speaking. "Hey, I don't kiss and tell, but I also don't remember anything about pretending it never happened." There was a pause, and he added, "We can do that, though."

Bill's irritated frown was unwavering. "You never kissed before. Also,  _you_  were the one who freaked out and left. Like it wasn't  _good enough_  for the virgin." Nevermind the fact Bill almost killed himself over it and the proposal, but that wasn't the point.

"That… wasn't because of the kiss," he admitted softly. "I was going to stay, but you… you were pressuring me to marry you and talking about— about _eloping_ and having sex, and stuff."

"Never too late to take me up on the offer," he abruptly reminded him. "The sex, not the marriage. That's not really my thing."

Dipper's line of sight briefly fluttered to his own hand, searching, then back to Bill. "I'm not sure how it  _could_ be your thing when even your last resort rejected you." There was a lack of malice in his words, a small smile on his face. "I think I'll pass on the sex. I'm hoping that if I wait long enough, I'll evolve into a super-virgin, and it'll be fun to watch you implode from the sexual frustration."

That was worthy of a scoff. Dipper wasn't his last resort, not that Bill  _needed_  one. If he  _wanted_  to get married, he could marry  _anyone_  he wanted. Because he was so desirable, and incredibly handsome, and everyone knew that. "It's like you're a shitty discount superhero. The Super-Virgin: living in a basement playing DnD since 1998. You'd make Jerry Siegel turn over in his grave."

"Guess that makes you a shitty discount villain," Dipper snickered. "Pretends to be a big, bad guy but is actually kind of nice and can't deny the Super-Virgin." There was a blueish brightness in the corner of his vision, a phone screen illuminating as Dipper thumbs tapped away, typing something. "Oh. So that's who that is."

Bill faintly chuckled. "I'd make a good Mr. Freeze though." Considering the DC villain lost his wife because of his asshole boss, and Bill lost his puppies because of his dickhead parents. "Stars, Pine Tree. You didn't know who Siegel was? You're a horrible nerd."

"I don't read many superhero comics, okay?" Dipper defended himself with a huff, working his phone back into his pocket as he spared a glance his way. "Honestly, all I can think about is that Snow Miser song. I hope you appreciate my use of references from your day."

"Do you even  _know_  that song," Bill challenged him playfully, "or did you have to look it up on your phone?" That earned a heated protest but he didn't respond; the car was pulling up to a parking garage entrance, Bill maneuvering the vehicle inside. "Okay, Pine Tree. I'm going to park and you're going to stay here."

Dipper appeared to be suspended between wanting to argue over that—the kid did have an authority problem with him specifically, it was annoying—and a look of frightened wonder. Finally, he said, "Okay, don't take too long."

Bill only shrugged at that. "We'll have to see. I don't plan on staying long but there may be hangups." Mostly because he was shortchanging them, but Dipper didn't need to know that.

"Hangups like… might take an extra five minutes, or hangups like we're going to have the entire Los Santos Police Department after us?"

"Only one way to find out!" Bill laughed at Dipper's horror as he parked his vehicle and exited the car. After ensuring his pistol was on him, he pawed through the bag of money to place a fraction of the cut on his person, leaving the rest behind, then departed to walk across the aisle in confident strides.

The members of the Blind Eye Society were always a little… odd, in his opinion, with their matching robes and their stoicism, but they were never unprofessional, so he couldn't complain. They kept to themselves and stayed clear of the dramatic, petty shit between gangs, but he wasn't a fool, he knew they could be ruthless if they were crossed. The gang's neutrality wouldn't protect him from that, so he was ready for this meeting to go down sourly if they were going to take Valentino's debts out on him.

"Ah, Bill Cipher," greeted a tall, pale man. His working eye swept over him in a cursory motion. It was strange to do work for the Ravagers without his owl mask on, but he knew Ivan wasn't a threat to giving his identity away. He had already known who he was, his affiliations, and they worked together on more than one occasion. The Blind Eye Society was secretive in nature, to the point where prior to their contact, Bill hadn't even been able to find them. They had to reach out to him. Things were different with Dipper… Bill knew that the second he put on the golden owl mask, the kid would flip his shit out over the revelation Bill was in the gang that iced his parents. "We've been awaiting your arrival."

Bill similarly scanned the Blind Eye Society members, easily determining Ivan had come with Sprott and Tats even with red robes partially shielding their faces.

Attention settling on the leader, he commented, "Good Cosmos, Ivan. You're looking even more zombie-ish than I remember. Has it really been so bad for the Eyes that you've resorted to doing meth?" Almost instantly, he had a gun in his face. Bill wasn't fazed, glancing at the muscular man with disinterest. It seemed his temper was as short as his intelligence, considering he needed to label his body parts with ink.

Blind Ivan made a tsking noise and used a wiry hand to lower the gun. "Not so fast, Tats. I believe Mr. Cipher owes us something, isn't that right?"

Good one, 'owe.' Bill didn't owe them shit, it wasn't his fault Robbie was a dumbass who decided the Society of the Blind Eye would be getting the majority of  _their_  cut. There was rarely a moment where he didn't hate that emo. "Sure,  _Wexler_. Whatever you say." He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, handing it over to the thin male.

Blind Ivan took the money, carding through the bills. "And the rest?" he prompted after a second, but his voice had grown cold.

"That's all there was," Bill informed him. Tats had raised the gun in his face again, but he wasn't relenting. "What did you seriously expect? It was a convenience store, not a fucking bank."

"Valentino promised there'd be more than this." A snap of his fingers, and Sprott lifted his own gun to point it at him, bringing the grand total of barrels staring him down to two. More dangerously, Ivan added, "He has a debt to pay. Hand over the rest."

How about no? It was his money, not theirs. "Yeah, it's not my fault Robbie owes you dipshits some odd bucks. If you want that, you gotta take it up with the Edgelord. It's not my fault you made bad investment choices." Since they decided they wanted to try to  _intimidate_  him, Bill withdrew his own gun, cocking it.

"If I were you, I'd choose your next words very carefully, Cipher."

Tats jabbed the gun closer, the barrel grazing his jawline while Sprott kept his distance, but he could see the trigger finger shaking, as if he was itching to pull it. Or too afraid, most likely. Careful to avoid showing any signs of fear, Bill answered evenly, "Yeah, shoot me and you'll never get the rest of your money from Valentino. You'd be down thirty grand and have to deal with the bullet hole in your own–"

There was a throat being cleared in impatience, a familiar sound. To his left, an unexpected voice resounded, "I don't mean to interrupt whatever... this is, but you have a phone call."

Fucking. Dipper.

Bill shot him a murderous glare, tempted to turn the gun on the kid after explicitly telling him to stay put. The little shit, now wasn't the time. "So end it."

Dipper's eyes were shifting between the four of them, looking a little nervous. "This, uh, Pentagram or whatever? He  _really_ wants to talk." Bill didn't give a flying fuck about what Gideon wanted. He knew he'd be busy, so fuck him.

" _Mason Pines_?" Blind Ivan spoke with his gaze trained on Dipper, sounding nothing short of astonished. In his peripherals, Bill could see Sprott lowering his gun again, just as mystified by the new presence. Interesting.

Dipper's eyes were huge, as if he couldn't believe he had been correctly identified — it was amusing in a way how he was so clueless to the fact that he and his sister were the recent gossip of the major crime gangs in Los Santos since they'd walked away from the massacre. Looking uncertain, he didn't seem to know what to say.

"The one and only," Bill changed his tune, lowering his own gun as he stepped over to Dipper and threw his arm around him. He was relishing in every moment in which shock painted the faces of the Society of the Blind Eye's crew members. "Mason, darling, is the call still going?"

And Dipper… he was positively  _blushing_ , cheeks adopting a deep crimson color while he eased into the touch. "No, he just said to call him back."

Bill wouldn't be doing that, but he was enjoying the redness of Dipper's face. "I see, thank you,  _cherry_." He took his phone back, slipping it into his pocket. Acutely aware of Blind Ivan's gaze, he went on in a sugary-sweet tone, "Is that the only reason you came out, doll?"

Although Dipper opened his mouth to respond, he was cut off by Blind Ivan. "How are you affiliated with… with him?" The stony question was directed at Bill.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bill asked with gleaming eyes. "We're  _engaged_ , Ivan. He's my fiancé." Seeing the look on Blind Ivan's face was beyond priceless

He stared at them for a long couple of seconds, and by now, even Tats had taken the gun off of him to stare in awe. "Engaged," Ivan repeated, skeptical. "Are you engaged, or is he a...  _commodity_? If you will."

Briefly panicked by the implication, Dipper answered that for him, "We're engaged." Bill was pleased Pine Tree went along with it, and he subtly puffed up his chest. He'd give the kid a treat for that.

And the confirmation seemed to perplex Ivan even further, but he finally nodded. "I see…" he muttered slowly. "That's— quite intriguing, Cipher, to entertain such a relationship with the son of a former senator and mayor." Given his status as a renowned criminal of Los Santos, it truly was.

"What can I say?" Bill's laugh was short. "I like being around that family. Hey, are we done here, or are you still going to try to get money out of me?" Still wasn't going to happen, that was  _his_.

Ivan's eyes flicked from Bill to Dipper, eventually sliding to Bill. "I believe our business here is done. Unsee you later."

Thank stars, he didn't want to get blood on his suit. "Good riddance. Come on, Mason, we have a backseat to break in." That elicited an embarrassed squeak and  _oh_ , if he wasn't red already, his eyes had a glazed over look to them. Although he knew they weren't really going to go fuck in the back of his car, he always enjoyed Dipper's reaction to sexual implications.

They split apart, and soon were both safely back in his car, Bill internally gloating over his victory in this confrontation.

Propping his feet onto the dash, Dipper seemed far from amused as he folded his arms and asked, "Do you want to tell me why there were two guns pointed at you?"

"A minor argument over money because of one of my employers. It's resolved now." Bill waved away Dipper's concern in favor of pulling out of the parking garage. "I took most of the cut, they thought it was short, they became convinced otherwise. The usual."

"You're saying you intentionally cheated them," he pointed out dryly. "Be glad you made it out of that unscathed." There was a moment of consideration, a suddenly mischievous look creeping onto his face, and he said, "Seems like you might need me after all."

No. He didn't need Dipper. Probably.

Okay, maybe he did. Not  _need_ Dipper, but wanted Dipper. How else could they be the Los Santos Power Couple? If what happened back there was any indication, the other gangs would bow before them, give him anything he wanted. The Blind Eye Society was just the beginning– with Pine Tree at his side, would the other gangs react the same? It was a huge status symbol to have the mayor and senator's spawn in his pocket. High profile criminal meets high profile politician's kid, it was perfect, gangs and his favorite officials—the corrupt ones—would lap it up like cats presented with a bowl of milk. Besides, if they were the Power Couple, Dipper couldn't leave. All he'd have to do was warm up Dipper to the idea, maybe make a few phone calls... Realizing he hadn't yet replied and instead had been entertaining thoughts of ultimate control, he answered, "You're drastically underestimating my ability to take out three amateurs. I would've been fine without you,  _Mason_." He still liked being able to use that.

Bill watched as the kid fidgeted, noting how that adorable blush was back, and Dipper swallowed thickly. "Oh, right. I was going to remind you to call back that Penta.. um, Pentagon guy? When I picked up the phone, he sounded pretty mad." Probably for leaving in the middle of a job, oh well. Wasn't like they could actually punish him for it since he was an integral part of what the Ravagers had left.

"He can wait a while. It was stupid of him to call when he knows I was dealing with the money transfer." The thought of Dipper telling Gideon who he was occurred to him, and he frowned. "Did you… tell him your name or anything?" If Gideon knew about Dipper being alive, or how Robbie wanted the kids dead, that could be an issue.

Dipper grinned shyly. "When he asked who I was, I… I may have told him I was 'Bill's heterosexual life partner' and I think he liked that? Maybe a little too much, he kind of started… hitting on me, calling me some weird endearments. Pretty sure he thought I was a girl, and he wanted to take me on a date."

At that, Bill chuckled. "You are pretty girly." It was a huge part of why being a  _heterosexual_  life partner worked. "Did he call you like, my queen and shit?"

Nodding, Dipper couldn't hold back his laughter. "Yeah, he did."

"You should've told him you're  _my_  queen, doll." He reached over to flick his knee, and must have been on a roll today with abusing the kid's sweet spots because Dipper's cheeks were taking on a lovely shade of red  _again_ and it was wonderful. "You've been rather adorable, cherry, with all that redness."

"It's  _hot_ today and I have flannel on," Dipper protested, motioning to his clothing, "and jeans." Oh, the kid could blame the weather all he wanted for this, but Bill knew better, especially when he was sitting in an air-conditioned vehicle. Seemingly trying to steer the subject away, Dipper asked, "What was with those guys? They apparently knew me?"

Now that was another thing Dipper didn't need to know much about. "They recognized you from the news. It's nothing important, cutie."

Dipper didn't seem entirely convinced, and Bill could almost hear the gears grinding in his mind. "Okay, it just seemed… weird, their reactions, asking how we were 'affiliated.'"

He didn't want to talk about this, not yet. "So, hey cutie," he tried to move on, "didn't Pentagram ask you on a date or something?"

"Mm-hmm, it was a little creepy how he asked. Over-the-top and hyperbolic." Dipper shot him a sideways glance, a smirk hiding in the corner of his lips. "A bit like you, when you were asking me to elope, but I think he meant it. Maybe I should take him up on the offer."

"Or… idea! I take you on a better date. Pentagram's would be too lame for you, kid. Let me dazzle you."

Visibly amused, his eyebrows raised. "Alright," he agreed, sweetly albeit exaggeratedly saying, " _dazzle_ me, Bill. Just keep the illegal activities to a minimum, okay? And I don't know what you usually do on dates, but to be clear, no proposing and we're not ' _breaking in the backseat'_ after this."

He laughed. "I have a bed, cutie. We don't need to use the backseat."

Dipper didn't look impressed. "I meant that metaphorically, but I'll rephrase: we're not going to be having sex, regardless of location."

"You say that now, but you'll be bending over for me after this date." Bill paused in thought. "Hey, can you text Mabel to see when she wants to be picked up?" Needed to know how much time they had.

"Sure." Dipper had his phone out in a second, drafting a message to Mabel. After a pause, there was a vibration and he reported, "She says to give her a couple more hours, so that should give you plenty of time to dazzle."

Hadn't she pulled that before? Bill wouldn't be surprised if this turned out to be where she just stayed over to fuck. "Oh, it will. Buckle up because soon you'll be seeing stars,  _Mason_."

* * *

The drive to the restaurant was short with minimal traffic incidents beyond running a few lights. Dipper let him hear all about it as they walked into Al Dente's, but Bill had gotten pretty good at tuning him out and simply listened to the specials of the day as the waiter led them to his preferred table.

Once seated, Bill looked at the menu with interest. "It's a shame the picture always looks better than what you get," he commented. "I wish more places around here had  _class_."

"You're just a ray of sunshine," Dipper commented, then appeared to be considering something. Leaning toward him slightly, Dipper… he fucking— batted his eyelashes and was twirling his hair between his fingers?

What. The. Fuck.

"Are you having a gender crisis right now?"

That brought Dipper into a burst of laughter. "No, but I bet you'd like that. On the way over, I… was sort of researching first date tips and the site said to use bold body language to get a second date."

Oh. So that's why he was on his phone the whole time, ignoring him, being dismissive with little hums and 'mhm's the entire time. "Did it tell you to look like a discount hooker while doing so?"

The kid's face dropped into an offended pout, and he mumbled, "I bet Pentagram would've loved it."

"Pentagram would've played it off like it was the cutest thing in the 'gosh dang world, oh my darlin' or some horseshit. He'd only be in it for the marriage, sugar. You don't want that." Gideon's desperation knew no bounds.

"I'll have you know I  _am_ the cutest thing in the gosh dang world," he said but was far from serious, the grin fighting its way through despite his obvious attempts at holding back. "And don't try to tell me you're not here because you want to get laid. Which you won't, by the way."

Bill chuckled and patted his knee. He wasn't wrong about that, considering Bill was the  _handsomest_. "Of course you are, cutie. And you can keep telling yourself we won't have sex, we will." Sooner or later, Dipper would be begging for his cock. He just had to wear out this… rebellious streak.

"Yeah, no. I'm saving myself for a real man." After a pause, he added amusedly, "Hey, maybe I should call up that guy we met today since he seemed to like me a lot."

Bill made a face as he realized he was referring to Blind Ivan. "You don't even have his number, Pine Tree. How're you going to pull that one off?"

"You wouldn't give it to me?" Nope, he wasn't getting it out of Bill, and even if he did manage to get a hold of his phone, his contact names were nicknames.

"Sorry, you're not getting any numbers from me but my own."

"I already have your number. Theoretically, if you had to set me up with someone…" Dipper glanced up from his menu, giving him a sly look. "Who would it be? Mabel's got a girlfriend, I'm so very jealous. Like, out of all your criminal buddies, who would you choose for me?"

"We're on a date, sugar. You've been upgraded."

His eyebrows hitched. "You're the best date you can think of? Talk about narcissism."

Bill snorted. "It's  _true_ , I am the best. Get over it, cherry."

"Well, you have—" he briefly checked the time on his phone, "about an hour and a half to show me that you're the best date ever before we'll have to pick up Mabel." After a second, Dipper tilted his head to a side and inquired, "Has the dazzling commenced yet? I can't really tell."

"Not yet." Bill waved the waiter over since it was about time they got things moving. "Are you ready to order, my dear?" The unexpected term of endearment had seemingly intrigued Dipper.

"Absolutely,  _darling_." It sounded more venomous than his did, but he couldn't miss the inflection of playfulness. Looking to the waiter, Dipper relayed his order, "I'll just have water and the uh, cheese ravioli."

After Dipper finished, he gave his own order, "The chicken picatta with a bottle of  _Amarone Bertani_." The most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, but what could Bill say? He wanted to treat himself, and maybe Dipper too.

The waiter left with a nod and promise to be right back with the drinks, leaving Dipper to stare at Bill through narrowed eyes. "So… am I driving back, or what?"

"Why would you be driving back? I'm perfectly capable."

"You tread the border of 'capable driver' when you're completely sober," he remarked. "Either I drive us back, or you can't drink alcohol."

So this was how the kid was going to be. "Come on," he tried, "it's not going to  _kill us_  to enjoy some wine together." They could share it. Dipper could finally get a taste of some of the… tolerable stuff.

Unrelenting, he shook his head. "Can't you wait until we're back at the penthouse? Drink later."

"If I drink later," Bill lightly challenged him, "will you join me?" He mostly wanted the kid to try it.

The kid shifted his weight, appearing unsure from the way his eyes shifted, and his fingertips drummed against the wooden table. "Let's see, will I be twenty-one in the next few hours? No."

"It's not illegal to drink alcohol if you're under twenty-one, it's just illegal to buy it. Loosen up, Pine Tree."

"Pretty sure it's still illegal," Dipper laughed nervously and shrugged, "so I don't know."

Bill chuckled. "Everything's legal when the pigs aren't around, sugar. No one's gonna call the cops on you for drinking, cutie." He looked away when the waiter approached the table.

"I'm sorry sir," the waiter said, setting down their drinks but withholding the wine. "I'll need to see your ID."

Ah, he'd forgotten about this. The waiter must've forgotten too. Bill reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and from within, one of his many IDs. He handed it over to the waiter who checked it before it was returned, and with it the bottle of wine.

Bill was about to slip the ID back into his wallet when a thieving little snake snatched it, Dipper scanning the license with interest. "To be honest, I'm kind of surprised your name is actually Bill Cipher." Jesus, it was like the holidays had come early for this kid with how bright his eyes were as he looked it over. "Nice picture, it's weird to see you without that 'I-haven't-been-laid-in-three-months' look. October 25th birthday… Oh— oh wow, you're over six feet tall? I'm not  _short,_  you really are just a giant." It was a little more than annoying that this kid was looking at his shit. That was  _his_  license, and Bill wanted to cut off his fingers for taking it from him.

"If you're surprised by that ID, just wait until you see the nineteen other licenses I have." This was the only real one, but he wanted to plant that seed of doubt about his identity back into Dipper's head. It was funny to watch him struggle with it. "Not my fault you got the short end of the genetic stick, Pine Tree."

Dipper didn't seem to hear him, looking entranced since he brought the license closer as if examining a particular detail, then drew it away again to ask, "What is… 'dic'?" He smirked and added, "Not that it isn't fitting, but licenses usually don't come with warning labels."

Bill shook his head, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. " _Dic_ hromatic. It's pronounced like  _dyke_. "

That was enough to throw Dipper into a fit of giggles, the kid found that so funny that he could see tears in the corners of his eyes by the time he had gotten the outburst under control. "Just your average lesbian couple out on a date."

The kid was starting to become less cute. "No."

Although Dipper was still smiling at him, he handed over the license and said, "Come on, I was just kidding. You're the manliest man ever. Happy?"

"Nah." He tucked his license back into his wallet, grumbling softly. "Thief."

"Dic." Dipper couldn't contain the second round of laughter, meanwhile Bill hrmmphed in annoyance, noting that he  _still_ didn't say it right even after he'd offered the correction.

Sometimes, he wanted to kill the kid. "Man, kid, you're sounding quite dickish right now."

With his face resting in one of his hands, he questioned, "A  _gorgeous_ and  _feminine_ housewife like me, dickish?" The words were exaggerated.

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint." And he seemed to do the most dickish thing he could, Bill should have even seen it coming with what happened earlier, that particular  _incident_ with the Pop-Tart because before he knew it, his undone bowtie rested in the kid's palm while he wore an expression of innocence.

"I'm going to leave," he informed Dipper coldly, "and you can pay for the food. Or get arrested, because you don't have money."

"So my options are… prison, get killed by Stan later for using his card, or making it to the end of a date with you." Dipper thought about it for several long seconds, a hum escaping him as his fingers danced with the lace of the bowtie. "You're probably the lesser of the evils," he concluded and extended the bowtie back to him.

Bill huffed. "I should make you tie it back on." Maybe if he had to keep doing that, he'd stop stealing it.

"Wow. I really have become a housewife."

"You haven't been a very good one recently."

"Is this because you're going through a dry spell? Maybe if you weren't sleeping with hookers, we'd have more of a sex life," he teased but let the subject drop, likely after seeing the rather displeased expression he wore. "I guess that website with dating tips wasn't too helpful, huh? Your face says 'worst date ever.'"

"I want to send you back to the Grindr warehouse."

Dipper's eyes dragged over his clothing. "So you can buzz back to your beehive?" Leaning over the table, he began to work on getting the bowtie situation resolved, seemingly trying to keep his distance to avoid their faces being pushed together as they otherwise would, if he wasn't staying an entire arm's length away. He sat down once he was finished, commenting, "Back to looking as fashionable as Armani. Now that we've established we're dressing each other, what are you going to put me in?"

Bill had an idea. "Well, I always thought you'd look good as a  _bunny_ …" He grinned at him, knowing Dipper would get the playboy bunny reference. "You can hop onto my cock anytime, honey bun."

Dipper choked on his water, coughing into his flannel shirt a couple times as he tried to clear his throat. Once he'd recomposed himself, he questioned curiously, "What would that en _tail_?"

Although the pun wasn't lost on him, he asked simply to fluster Dipper, "Which part? The outfit or riding my dick? Because riding my dick would require a lot of lube, some fingering to get you prepped, and you settling down on my dick until–"

"Holy— I meant  _the outfit_!" Dipper specified once his horror had faded enough to allow him to speak.

"Don't you have a phone for that, Pine Tree?" Bill's tone was teasing. "You've already looked up a shit ton of stuff tonight, like dating tips."

"And look where that got me," he said dryly. "I mean, I  _could_ look it up, but would… you want me to dress like a female bunny? Because I think the male bunnies are different."

Dipper was a girl, why would he be looking at the male bunnies' attire? "You'd only make a good  _female_  bunny, cutie. You couldn't pass off as a male."

"Hey," he protested, appearing offended for a second but let it go as he noticed the waiter approaching with dishes of food. Once it'd been dropped off at the table and they were alone again, he said, "Look, if I'm going to be the playboy bunny to your… apparent Hugh Hefner, I expect to be seriously pampered."

"Is dinner not good enough for you, doll? I could pamper you with a good lay if you want."

"A good lay, huh?" Dipper snickered. "So who are you going to be getting?"

Bill's eyes narrowed at the jab and bluntly replied, "Your dad." Too soon?

Paling a little, Dipper gave his plate a nudge, pushing it away. "Well, guess I'm done eating before I even had a chance to start." Oh yeah, too soon confirmed. With a sigh, Dipper picked up his fork to play with his noodles but didn't make a move to eat them, not that he was going to wait around for Pine Tree to dig in when he was starving. He was already working on the chicken picatta and would continue to enjoy it regardless of whether or not Dipper ate. "A while ago, we were talking about my parents and the whole thing with my sexuality. I think that conversation happened outside the convenience store?" A trace of a fond smile touched Dipper's lips. "Well, anyway, do… you, uh, want to know how they found out I was bi?"

He had some guesses. "Did they find you making out with a poster of Justin Bieber? Or singing some... gay ass Harry Styles song like 'What Makes You Beautiful', or—"

"I prefer ABBA, actually, but that's irrelevant.."

"Ah yes, can't forget their  _Mamma Mia!_ soundtrack. Good songs."

"Yeah, they really are!" Dipper brightened instantly. "That's getting a bit off topic though, so to answer your questions… No, none of that happened. I wasn't kissing any posters or singing, it was way more embarrassing."

"Did they catch you throwing up after a make out session with a picture of your teenage mother? Or after masturbating to an image of Einstein with his tongue out? Oh! Did they find your  _Playgirl_ magazine—?"

" _Okay_ , you seriously need to stop with the guesses. I'm just going to tell you." Dipper looked thoroughly revolted, but he shook it away after a moment or two. "So, you know how Mabel has long hair? That's pretty rough on shower drains and she was never too diligent when it came to throwing the hair away instead of letting it build up. The drain got slow and eventually clogged, so when I wanted to shower one day, I decided I would clean it. But here's the thing: I was like, fourteen, and didn't really know the most efficient way to do that."

There was a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks, deepening as he continued, "And I decided to use a toothbrush. I cleaned out the drain, then took my shower. Everything was good, except…" The kid was impossibly red by now, voice picking up in speed, "Except I may have forgotten to take the toothbrush out of the shower again and my parents thought that I was using it to, um, y'know—" he buried his burning face into his hands, "do stuff in the shower."

Bill burst into laughter. "Damn, kid. That  _is_  way more embarr _ass_ ing." A toothbrush? No wonder his parents supported him, they were probably hoping he'd do better than  _that_.

"For the love of god, don't be a  _dic_ about this," Dipper huffed but Bill swore he could see the kid smiling through the small spaces between his fingers.

* * *

It turned out he'd been spot on in his earlier prediction when it came to the Shooting Star and Llama rendezvous; when he and Pine Tree had left the restaurant, Bill had asked him to text her to see if she was ready, and  _of course_ she'd responded to say she was going to stay the night. And interestingly, it left him and Dipper alone for the evening in the penthouse since Stan and Ford didn't seem to be around. He had no idea where they were, couldn't even bring himself to care at the moment — they were big boys, they could handle themselves.

Presently, Bill sat with Dipper on the balcony's patio sofa, the bottle of wine still unopened but sitting on the nearby table with two wine glasses; he wasn't going to drink out of the bottle, he was a classy fellow. Besides, Bill had finally gotten the kid to eat his meal after promising he wouldn't make any more lewd comments (at least during dinner), so even if he did drink with him, he figured it wouldn't hit the kid too hard since he wouldn't be doing it on an empty stomach.

Overall, stargazing from the comfort of the balcony would be a nice end to an equally nice evening date. It was strange how being with Dipper made him happy, but he wasn't complaining.

A thought occurred to him, and he glanced at Pine Tree. "So… about the toothbrush incident. Why didn't the Help just clean the drain for you?"

Dipper gave him a funny look. "What is 'the Help' and why is it supposed to clean drains?"

"You know,  _them_. The underlings."

His expression shifted to a confused stare, his head tilting. "No, I really don't know. The devil's minions, or who are you talking about?"

Bill blinked at him. "Did you not have the … inferiors working for your family?"

A little laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. "Are you talking about housekeepers? We had money, but not…  _that_ much money, and my parents weren't the type." Pausing, Dipper's gaze swept over him, some mix of surprise and curiosity hiding in those brown eyes. "Wait, did you?"

"Well, yes. I thought the family of a mayor  _and_  senator would be able to afford it too, but maybe my family was just better with their financials." They did own and operate a Fortune 500 company dealing with financial services after all. Until Bill sold it once he'd… disposed of them.

Dipper's eyes were wide as they remained fixed on him. "I didn't know your family was…" he trailed off, hand motioning as he tried to find a suitable word, "so wealthy."

Admittedly, he was a little confused by Dipper's surprise. He thought it was obvious he came from wealth. No one else could be so classy. "How did you  _not_  know?"

A shrug, and he said, "I guess I knew you had money to throw around, but I didn't realize it was from your parents."

At that, his temper flared. How  **dare** he assume it was all from his parents? Bill had to work his ass off to keep those funds invested wisely. The majority of profit was probably due to  _him_. "Unlike  _you_ , I didn't have to rely only on mommy and daddy's paychecks." He saw the flicker of annoyance on Dipper's face but kept going, "My father forced me to work in his firm in order to prepare me for when I'd take over." Basically grooming him, but Bill didn't care. He had his revenge.

"Oh," it was a murmur, his eyes softening, "that's… uh, I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, averting his gaze as he tentatively shuffled until he was leaning against him, Dipper's legs folded on the sofa while his hands were placed neatly in his lap.

"For being wrong?" he inquired. "You should be. Not everyone had it easy like you did."

Dipper stiffly replied, "I didn't have it  _easy_ , but I wouldn't expect you to know that. I don't think you've ever asked, just skipped to calling me spoiled and ungrateful."

Bill scoffed. "Your parents loved you, they  _supported_  you, they were there for you. How did you  _not_  have it easy?"

He could see Dipper was bristling. "It's not a contest, Bill. If the one who had it worse was the only one in the world allowed to complain, we'd be sitting in silence." Dipper let out a sigh, fidgeting against him. "I know things must have been rough for you, but I wish you wouldn't call me spoiled solely on the basis of possibly having a worse home life than I did."

"I said you had it  _easy_ , not that you were  _spoiled_." The kid shouldn't put words in his mouth.

Although the traces of anger remained, he looked wounded, as if a nerve had been struck. "That's.. not what I meant. It's implied in a lot of what you do and say around me, it's like you think I am just some spoiled rich kid who used his parents' money to get ahead in the world."

Bill didn't understand what the issue here was. How was he wrong? He was pretty sure Dipper even had enough money to fund his college career. "I don't think you're  _just_ some spoiled rich kid, cutie." He reached over to set his arm around Dipper, pulling him in closer and feeling a tiny pinch of satisfaction when Dipper rested his head on his shoulder. "I think you're  _my_  spoiled rich kid. Get used to it, cherry."

Dipper laughed at that, quietly — but it was there, and that was what counted. "I'm not sure what you mean. It's not like I have access to those funds anymore, so I'm not really a rich kid now."

Carefully, as to not disturb Dipper, he reached over to grab the bottle of wine and position it in his lap so he could unscrew the cork. "Ah, but cutie, you know I'll get you whatever you want. You basically have indirect access to my funds. Also, don't you still have Stan's card?" He was pretty sure the kids never actually gave it back, not that Stan cared. He poured the wine into the two glasses, setting the bottle down once they were filled and offering a glass to Dipper.

Taking the glass, Dipper raised an eyebrow at what he said, giving him a skeptical look, but there was still a faint smile on his lips. "I don't think of Stan's money as my money, dude. It's supposed to be for emergencies." Returning his cheek on his shoulder once more, he could feel the kid exhale, essentially deflating into him.

Knowing Stan, the money may as well be Dipper's. "I doubt he'd mind if you lived off his money." It was true: the guy was a definition of a pushover. "When it comes to kids, he's so soft that he'd bend over backwards if you said 'please.'"

"Would you get hard if I said 'please' and bent over?" There was a small smile on his face, the kid swishing the wine gently as he examined it.

At Dipper's question, he hesitated and focused his attention on his glass of wine, taking a sip. He didn't want to tell Dipper anything about that, mostly because deep down, he knew he would, as much as he wanted to deny it. Redirecting the subject by returning to Stan, he commented, "Yeah, Stan is incredibly squishy when it comes to children. Like a sack of animal fat."

Making a face probably at 'animal fat', Dipper moved on and instead referenced an earlier topic. "Also, what you said about having indirect access to your funds… I didn't know that."

Wasn't it obvious? He kept buying shit for the kid, like those stupid mugs. "You do now."

Despite Dipper's earlier hesitance about drinking alcohol, he raised the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip, his face scrunching. "It's like a grape died in my mouth."

"You don't like it?" He wouldn't have blamed him. Even for a hundred dollars, it still tasted like cheap swill.

"I don't mind it," he replied with a shrug, "it's just different. I didn't think wine would be this bitter, I guess?"

Bill grinned. "It's not the best quality, for sure. I think I ought to kill the manufacturer."

After taking another drink, he asked, "Do you usually talk about murder on your dates?"

"I usually don't bother with the dating aspect. I found participating in murder porn to be much more enjoyable." He liked choking the life out of them as they fucked.

He could feel the way Dipper tensed beside him, shifting uncomfortably. "Well, now I'm definitely glad I laid down the 'no sex' rule." He took another drink from the glass, this one longer.

Bill chuckled softly and planted a kiss to his cheek, which elicited a noise of feigned protest from Dipper, but he knew that if he'd genuinely disliked it he wouldn't still be pressed against him. "Don't get so tense, cutie. I like you too much to murder you during sex."

"Probably the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," he replied sarcastically, but it seemed more playful than scathing. "Wow, the sad part is, I think that's probably the  _only_ romantic thing someone has ever said to me." And with that, he tipped his wine glass back and finished drinking it in one large sip before setting it down.

Christ. This went from having a good time to Dipper being a Debbie Downer. "If you want to feel better," Bill suggested, "I know where we can get some cocaine. Good shit."

At first Dipper chuckled at that, then abruptly stopped when he stole a glance at him only to see he hadn't been joking about the offer. With wide eyes, he shook his head. "Oh my god, no."

"Come on, Pine Tree! It's safe! ...Compared to meth. You should try it, you won't regret it." Bill didn't, but he also rarely sampled his own supply since he liked the profit over a high.

"Starting to regret this date right now," he mumbled but made no move to pull away from him, so Bill figured he couldn't be nearly as vexed as he claimed.

He chuckled at him. "I don't think you are, doll. I think you  _like_  this date and want another one."

"Maybe if the next date is with the 'good lay' you were talking about earlier," he hummed, "and if you say my dad again, I'll fucking end you."

"I'm the  _best lay_ , sugar. Guess you're stuck with my fat dick."

Turning red, the kid covered his face with his hand for a couple long moments, then ran it through his hair as he gave a long exhale. "The only thing that's fat about you is your overbearing pride."

Hah, the kid wished Bill only had a huge amount of pride, something Dipper would learn sooner or later, and not just because they were living together. The sound of his phone vibrating in his pocket drew his attention away, and he pulled it out and unlocked it. It was a text from Big Daddy.

( **9:17 PM)**   _hey bill, are ya at the penthouse?_

( **9:18 PM)**  yeah

( **9:18 PM)** _can u pull out the box of toaster strudels from the freezer_

( **9:18 PM)** _ford and i'll be back soon and ya know i hate it when they're completely frozen_

Dipper's eyes flicked to his phone, stealing a peek at their conversation. "And I thought  _my_ night was sad, going on a date with you. Jesus."

"Get used to it, Pine Tree. Stan's a mess of an old man." Not that he was  _that_  old, but still. It was a little pathetic.

"You ought to thank Stan when he gets here," Dipper said. "This alone has convinced me that I've been thoroughly dazzled because I got a real date, meanwhile Stan and Ford got Toaster Strudels." Before he could respond, another text came through:

( **9:20 PM)** _if dipper's there,_ _can ya get him to design the toaster strudels? i want to see what the kid can do_

Bill knew Dipper was still looking at the conversation, and he spared him a glance only to see the kid was grinning a little. "You gonna decorate this sad man's food?"

"Yeah, I will." Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, giving a laugh under his breath. Bill was about to text a reply to Stan, but paused when he heard the question: "So you talk about me to people?"

"What?" Bill feigned confusion. "Nah, kid. Mabel must've told him."

That made the kid laugh harder, and he said, "Actually, Mabel doesn't know. I kind of forgot to tell her I switched my major since I did that halfway through the spring semester and we haven't had a lot of time for just… catching up."

That was a surprise. "I thought you two were closer than honey in a comb."

"I admire how you've embraced the bee thing."

"Shh, Pine Tree. Go back to keeping secrets from your sister."

That earned him a playful shove. "I'm going to get started on Stan's Toaster Strudel," Dipper informed him, getting up from the balcony sofa. "Thanks for the date."

"No kiss?" Bill raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't rip me off, cutie."

Pausing, he turned around and peered at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He softly laughed. "I guess that website didn't tell you how kissing was end-of-date etiquette." It must've been a shitty site. He figured all of them would emphasize the kiss.

"Dates don't  _need_ to end with a kiss, Bill." Dipper looked thoughtful, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. "In fact, I think you're simply trying to swindle one out of me."

"They  _do_ ," Bill insisted. "I get you haven't been on one before, cutie, but that doesn't mean you can weasel your way out of kissing me. Come on, doll, it'll be good." Make up for that… mess of one from the other night. It was so sloppy, careless, ended in complete chaos. He wanted to give Dipper a better experience since the guilt still gnawed at him.

"I don't know," but Dipper didn't sound all that unsure, more like he was playing with the idea. With  _him_. Sitting back down on the sofa, he shifted so his body faced toward him and leaned back on his hands. "You can kiss me if you ask nicely, and don't just go for it like you did… um, that other time."

Okay, he could do that. Easy enough. "Alright, let's kiss. Pucker up, cutie."

Dipper chastised him, "That is not asking nicely. Try again."

"Give me a kiss." He tried a second time. This  _was_  being nice.

"That was a demand, you're still not asking."

"Let me kiss you." Wasn't this asking? He didn't know.

"Literally not a single one of these have been questions."

Why would he ask a question? That was stupid. Giving it another attempt, he said, "I want to kiss you..?"

Rubbing at his arms, Dipper chuckled and let his eyes slide away, looking beyond him. "Alright, I think we're done here. No kiss for you."

As Dipper was starting to get up again, Bill reached for his flannel shirt to stop him and said, "Whoa, hey there! I can do this cutie! Ah… could I… kiss you? I think we'd both like it a lot,  _Mason_."

That pulled his attention back instantly, Dipper's eyes glittering with interest and surprise. "Jeez, you actually asked. I, uh— I didn't think you would." He swallowed, fidgeted. Shuffled slightly. "You must really want this too." Once the words were out, the kid seemed momentarily stunned by himself and flushed. "I meant, 'you must really want this.' Forget that last part. So, um, I guess let's...?" he made a vague motion between them.

It had been  _hard_  to ask. Dipper better be grateful. "Yeah, we both know how much  _you_  want this too, doll. Pucker those lips up." He leaned toward Dipper, ready to steal his mouth in a kiss.

But Dipper flinched to dodge him, looking nervous as he glanced away. God FUCKING damn it. "Wait, uh— um, this doesn't  _mean_ anything, right? Like, you're not going to start talking about marriage or eloping again?"

"No, I'm not. Are we going to kiss?" He sounded a little impatient, frustrated that Dipper had backed off. There were no strings attached, he needed to take this at face value: it was a kiss to end their date, nothing more.

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready this time." Bill gave him a lingering, critical stare. Okay.

Recollecting and preparing himself again, Bill leaned back in for the kiss, only to be thwarted by Dipper pulling back. AGAIN.

His expression was sheepish, embarrassed. Squirming, his fingers tapped anxiously on the sofa cushions. "Tiny problem, I— I don't know how to actually kiss someone."

"Then follow my lead." And stop fucking pulling back. Without giving him much time to react since he didn't want to deal with any more hangups, Bill lunged forward, pinning Dipper against the couch cushion and captured his lips with his.

He heard the kid make a muffled noise of surprise, but it melted into a pleased whine, a sweet sound that Bill wouldn't mind hearing in the future. And similarly, his once-tense body had relaxed under him as he started to return the kiss, their mouths moving together even if Dipper's contributions were more hesitant and inexperienced, a tad clumsy really.

But it didn't matter to him, not when this was so much better than the kiss they'd had at the pier. For one, Dipper was responding to him, being an active participant in the kiss, and two, he seemed to genuinely be enjoying himself with the way his eyelids fluttered closed and a light blush was coloring his cheeks.

After a moment, Bill withdrew, falling back onto the couch. There was a sweet taste in his mouth from Dipper, and he wondered if that was a side effect of being addicted to Pop-Tarts. "How was that, cutie?"

When he didn't immediately respond, Bill looked over to see that Dipper wore a dazed expression, his eyes glassy. Like he couldn't process what was happening around him, suspended in a daydream. Inhaling, everything seemed to catch up to him as he sat up straighter, glancing to meeting his gaze. Still blushing so adorably, Dipper confessed, "I… I can't believe we just did that. It was a lot better than the other one."

"Of course it was." It'd better be, or there'd be hell to pay. "You're looking a bit red, cherry. Can't handle being kissed?"

Pointing it out only caused him to become redder, and he let out a huffy sigh. "All I heard was 'I don't want another kiss from you, ever.'" Dipper rose from his spot on the sofa and moved toward the sliding door, probably leaving to go make Stan's food, but he paused. "Do you want a decorated Toaster Strudel too?"

He chuckled softly. "No, I'm good. Make one for Ford though, I want to see the dumbass gush over it." Knowing the two, it'd probably be an owl or something stupid like that.

"Sure, Romeo." He gave the briefest of winks, then left to go inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tentatively Wednesday or Thursday for the next update?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, this fic is officially one month old. Enjoy the surprise update!
> 
> Warning(s): mentions of abuse and drugs.

The image of the golden lion burned fresh in Dipper's memory as he woke with a strangled gasp for air, trying to steady himself and take in deep breaths to curb the rush of anxiety and adrenaline rapidly pounding through him.

Another nightmare after another night in the penthouse. Frustrating, but definitely not an uncommon predicament.

Moving to shuffle off of his makeshift sofa-bed, Dipper stopped when he realized there was a… a package, waiting for him? Puzzled, he picked up the gift-wrapped box and found the contents rattled lightly as he turned it over in his hands, looking for some explanation. All he discovered was a small tag that had 'Pine Tree' written on it, which at least confirmed two things: it was for him, and it was from Bill since nobody else would be addressing him like that or writing in a fancy script with star-dotted i's.

Opening the package, his eyes widened. Surprise engulfed him while he stared at the new sketchbook. But it wasn't  _just_ a sketchbook, Bill had included a set of drawing pencils, a variety of erasers spanning the different types, blending stumps, and a felt tip pen. All Dipper could do for several seconds was stare at it with amazement, astounded by the incredible consideration and research that had to have gone into this gift, the shock amplified considering who it was from.

Sorting through the individual pieces of the gift, he noticed there was something included that he hadn't initially seen — a note, very obviously also written in Bill's handwriting that read, 'Listen up, Picasso. These are yours under one condition: you draw me before anything or anybody else. -Sincerely, the magnificent Bill Cipher.' As if he'd needed to be told who was responsible for this.

It seemed Bill listened closer than he originally believed if he'd caught the single comment he made about missing his sketchbook. And strangely, for someone he'd known for such a short amount of time, it was a really personal gift and he couldn't be more thankful.

However, it wasn't as if he could make immediate use of it since Bill wasn't even here. Last night, Dipper recalled he'd mentioned a freelance job that'd preoccupy him until it was time to do the mission with the Owls, so he figured it'd be evening before he had much of an opportunity to talk to him.

The sound of crinkling aluminum disrupted his thoughts, and he spotted the form of Mabel emerging from the kitchen, fighting with two silver packages of Pop-Tarts at once. No wonder he kept running out of them so quickly. Mabel paused in her struggle, like she finally saw he was awake. "Dipper!" Her greeting was enthusiastic. "What do you have there? Is it a diary?"

Looking down in his hands, he remembered he was still holding the sketchbook. "Oh! No," he gave a small laugh but could understand why Mabel might've thought that, "it's not a diary, it's.. a sketchbook. I made the leap and changed my major a couple months ago to art." It was an idea he'd talked to her about, but he'd failed to mention when he switched.

She didn't seem to mind not being told, tearing open one of the packets and beginning to munch down on a Pop-Tart. "Is there anything in it?"

"I don't think so? It's brand new." Dipper thumbed through the pages idly, coming up blank as expected until he got to the first one. He blinked. "I guess there is something in it." He lifted the sketchbook to show Mabel the starry signature scribbled in ink at the bottom of the first page, as if it were a signed portrait. And signed by the subject-to-be, not the artist. "If you haven't already guessed, all these things," he motioned to the array of art supplies, "are gifts from Bill, and he wants me to draw him first."

At her squeal of excitement, Dipper tilted his head in confusion.

"You're making so much progress with him!" Mabel exclaimed through a mouthful of food, yet Dipper thought the statement itself was questionable at best. He didn't think  _he_ was making progress with Bill. If anything, Bill was taking it upon himself to be more tolerable. "It must be true then, getting engaged does do wonders for couples."

Dipper instinctively looked to his hand when reminded of that, Bill's ring no longer there, which almost felt strange. "I don't think we're even fake engaged anymore, Mabel. I gave his ring back a while ago." It was a matter he hadn't discussed with her, as he determined it didn't mean anything and Bill seemed to be pretty distressed over the whole incident, particularly when it came to sharing details of it with others. Not long ago, he'd angrily accused him of talking to Mabel about the kiss when he hadn't said a peep.

But there was that encounter with the uncomfortably-knowledgeable stranger, the one in which Bill had two too many guns pointed at him — he'd been terrified when he'd stumbled in on that shootout waiting to happen. Bill had claimed they were engaged again, something he'd decided would be in his best interest to go along with under the circumstances.

Mabel's expression dropped. "Aw, but you were  _so_  cute together! What happened?"

"We, uh… we got into a fight at the pier that one night, and I returned the ring to him." It was a very watered down and slightly warped version of events, but it wasn't a lie. It would also save face, since he didn't feel the need to out Bill's moment of despair to everybody, and Mabel had a habit of spreading gossip like wildfire.

"So that's why you two act awkward together!" Sort of, he supposed. "You need to make up, Dippy Bro-bro."

"We have," he reassured with a grin. Knowing Bill, it would only be a matter of time before something else came up and threw them back a few steps, but for now he was enjoying where they were. The date, while not a romantic excursion, had still been a fun evening, and the way it ended… Dipper had been trying not to slip into bad habits and overthink it. He knew it was nothing more than a kiss, but—

But he  _kind of_ enjoyed it more than he thought he would, it'd been nice. Dipper wasn't looking for a relationship, obviously; he didn't think he was ready for that, nor did he know Bill well enough. Nevertheless, he'd liked the kiss. "If we were still fighting, I don't think he would've gotten me this stuff." Dipper gave a brief nod toward the sketchbook and other items.

"Maybe it's his attempt to try and get your engagement back on track," Mabel suggested, giggling.

If that was true, it seemed excessive over a fake engagement with a foundation built on a stupid joke, but he still never knew with Bill. Pushing the thoughts away, Dipper settled for laughing with her.

* * *

It was a relief when the chaos of the penthouse died down. The crew had departed for their mission, which left him and Mabel in peace after about twenty minutes of pure yelling and running and frantic searching for last second supplies. Dipper had done nothing but spectate because Mabel's offers to help were shut down quickly and harshly by a stressed Stan.

With the plethora of mission changes and reminders, and questions from the rest of the crew, Dipper hadn't even come close to being able to talk to Bill, who looked too tired for his own good. It was as if he was operating on an hour or two of sleep. And given what he'd mentioned about insomnia, maybe he was, considering he'd been so out of it that his phone lay forgotten on the coffee table. Dipper hoped he wouldn't need it but doubted it'd be an issue when they had a radio communication system through earpieces for their heists.

Now, he and Mabel were collapsed together on the sectional sofa, limbs splayed out and overlapping the other's while they basked in the afternoon light filtering through the wall window. Dipper gave Mabel a thoughtful look and recalled she'd had a visit with Pacifica, so he inquired, "How was your day with your  _girlfriend_?" It was said a touch teasingly, but not meanly. "What did you guys do? Please, for the love of god, spare me the gross details." Being forcibly shown the image of Pacifica's butt after their first date had been more than enough.

Since Mabel had stayed the night, Pacifica dropped her off outside the penthouse the morning after their second outing together, and he'd gotten a chance to meet her. She'd come off as a bit snobbish, but still more genuine and likeable than Bill, so that was a definite plus. As long as she was being respectful and a good girlfriend to Mabel, he didn't care.

Mabel beamed at his questions. "It went great! We went out to the movies and watched  _Incredibles 2_ , then we swung by that old malt shop and shared a milkshake. Then we left to go to her house to break in her new couch, if you know what I'm saying."

"Yep, that was exactly the sort of thing I didn't want to hear about." Dipper was going to pretend that hadn't happened and tried to focus on the other activities that didn't make him want to bleach his ears into oblivion. "It sounds like you had a nice date." He didn't know how comparable his date with Bill was to theirs since it wasn't especially romantic, but he still enjoyed the simplicity of going to a restaurant and then sitting on the penthouse balcony together.

"It was a little lacking with how you didn't keep walking in, like how you always did.. before."

Dipper felt the heat rise to his cheeks instantly when reminded of… that, his previous tendency to always choose the wrong moments to walk in on Mabel when she'd had dates over. Giving a shaky, nervous chuckle, he said, "Yeah…" but couldn't think of anything else, aside from his discomfort with this topic. It'd been troubling and somewhat traumatic, to say the least, and a bit of a strain on their relationship when fights had ensued over it.

If Mabel noticed his discomfort, she didn't acknowledge it. "We have another date coming up! We're going to go on a picnic."

Glad to be away from that subject, Dipper replied, "That's really cool. Did you get permission from Stan? I know he's still on the fence about public outings." It seemed the entire city, minus the underbelly, had overlooked their existence already and not even a month had passed. A depressing thought, but he guessed it was alright since the sooner they were out of mind, the sooner they'd be free to go. "Are you excited about leaving soon? Just a bit less than two weeks now." Then, they'd be on their own and tackling the world together.

"Well…" She shuffled beside him, and Dipper picked up on her hesitance, a pinch of alarm trickling through him. This didn't seem good. "Not really. I want to see how things work with Pacifica, and maybe with joining the crew…"

Heart kickstarting, that trickle of alarm turned into full blown panic. "W-what?" he breathed in disbelief, sitting up straight to stare at her with fearful desperation in his eyes. "You're honestly thinking of… of staying?  _Joining_?" His voice cracked on the word.

This… this wasn't at all in the plan, nor was it any of the possible outcomes he'd considered for their supposed-to-be-temporary stay with Stan. It felt like it was coming out of nowhere, never mind the times he'd heard Mabel asking to help on jobs. It didn't make sense. Why would she want to stay? He wondered if he'd done something wrong, if being with him was undesirable or why her preference had swayed toward them—

Mabel glanced at him. "You're  _not_ joining? I thought you'd stay for Bill, since you're like,  _super gay_  with him."

Dipper shook his head. "No!" There were too many problems to even list with that. For starters, he wasn't  _super gay_ with Bill despite what Mabel claimed, and he didn't have any interest in obtaining a criminal record or participating in illegal activities, and additionally he didn't seem to meet their height to weight ratio requirement for heists anyway. "I— I'm not joining them, and there's nothing even going on between me and Bill." And although he'd told Bill he would think about staying, he'd believed that agreement to be more of a 'keep in touch', not a 'stay here forever' arrangement. Brokenly, he asked, "But you are? Have you… told anyone?"

Her eyebrow raised at him. "You could've fooled anyone watching you interact!"

Dipper frowned. "I'm pretty sure the last thing you saw us do was sit silently in a car on the way to Pacifica's, and before that he shoved a Pop-Tart in my mouth for no reason." Well, he'd maybe had it coming, but it had been an overreaction on Bill's part.

"I can sense the sexual tension, Dipper!" She went on, talking over his protest that there was no sexual tension. "That's not the point though. As for talking to someone about staying… I may have mentioned it to Stan."

Dipper's mind snapped back to the bigger issue here. Mabel was going to be leaving him in favor of joining a criminal gang. He still couldn't process it and moved off the sofa to begin to pace the expanse of the living room. "Why didn't you talk to me first?!" The anxiety in his tone was rising, sounding more strained with each passing second. "Because now he probably thinks you're joining or worse, that we both are! I wish you would've told me— we've always done everything together," Dipper blathered, hardly able to keep a coherent and complete thought.

Her expression twisted in confusion, becoming agitated. "I thought you were joining too! It shouldn't have been a big deal…" After a short moment, with hurt in her voice, she added: "It's not like you talk to me about everything anymore, Dipper. It took you months to tell me about your major change."

Struggling to get his rapid breathing under control, he was forced to put his pacing on hold while he recomposed himself enough to respond. "That was different! Our life's a total mess, Mabel," he tried to point out. "I didn't think telling you that—when you already knew I'd been thinking about it—was really a top priority when…" the end of the sentence wasn't going to make it out, he knew he wouldn't be able to say it. He felt choked, like he was dying a slow death of suffocation from an overly-restricted chest and a skyrocketing heart rate.

"Can you at least think about it?" Mabel asked, wrapping her arms around him, Dipper all but collapsing into the embrace. For once, he was grateful that she was just a little taller and perhaps stronger than he was since she easily supported his weight as he could do nothing but be a shaking mess against her. "Stan won't let me anyway unless you want to."

It was a relief to know Stan wouldn't allow them to be separated, but equally conflicting because it made him the sole reason she wouldn't be happy, assuming he didn't join at the end of the two remaining weeks. Feeling miserable and drained, Dipper didn't know what he was going to do. "I'll… think about it," he promised, internally swearing he'd make an effort to see if this was a lifestyle he could adopt as his own. He had doubts, but he didn't want to be the reason Mabel was forced to leave.

Mabel squeezed him tightly, bringing him in closer while he could do nothing but unintentionally perform his best impression of a pathetic puddle. "Thank you, Dipper."

Eventually, through the help of Mabel's reassurances, Dipper was able to calm down again and wound up flopped on the sofa. The sun was beginning to set, casting large shadows around the penthouse, and he wondered what time it was, how long the others had been gone.

Deciding that checking the time via Bill's phone would be easier than sitting up to glance at the owl clock, he grabbed the device and was met with a lock screen requiring four digits.

Hmm.

Logically, he was aware the owl clock would be the easier option at this point, but he was curious.

His attempts to unlock the phone resulted in utter failure, he'd tried the most popular combinations first, then moved on to 2-4-5-5 thinking it'd be something narcissistic like that. No luck.

Getting an idea, he typed Bill's birthday. 1-0-2-5. And to his surprise, the home screen loaded — he was in, but it wasn't without a burst of shame at the intrusion because he knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew Bill wouldn't like it if he found out. It wasn't an  _invasion_  of privacy though, it was innocent enough to want to know the time, but he couldn't help the growing urge to snoop. Maybe a bit wouldn't hurt, and it wasn't like he had a lot to do since Mabel was currently napping a few feet from him. He promised himself it would just be five minutes maximum, that was all.

Five minutes became ten, and ten became twenty that became forty, all of it used to surf through Bill's old photo albums. He wasn't interested in recent ones, they'd proved highly disturbing when he saw a picture of a dude with several bullet wounds. Very clearly dead. That'd been nightmare fuel.

Instead, what he thought was far more interesting were photos of dogs. Bill had an entire album, one that held most of the images on his phone, of simply  _dogs_. And they weren't just any dogs, it seemed they were his dogs from how he was featured in several of the pictures.

They were the same dogs as well, two Golden Retrievers (or at least looked like them, when compared to Bella they were quite similar), a photographic collection of their entire lives it seemed spanning from the puppy to adult years.

The deeper into the rabbit hole he went, the more he felt uneasy about what he was doing but he just couldn't stop himself, partly because of how Bill looked in those pictures. In all of them, he had his rare expression of genuine and unrestricted happiness, the hollowness in his eyes gone and replaced with a bright joy. It was intoxicating to see him like that, so carefree, and actually  _smiling_ in most of them. Not smirking, but smiling a real smile that made him want to smile too.

And he wasn't wearing black and yellow suits, for a change. The photos featured a Bill wearing normal person clothes, that alone a little unnerving but simultaneously too captivating to convince him to put down the device, knowing he wouldn't get another chance to do this in the near future, or possibly ever again.

When he inevitably heard voices and footsteps approaching, Dipper jumped, forgetting to leave the photo gallery but locking the phone again, placing it back on the table, all the while hoping he didn't look guilty over what he'd been doing. Having a glimpse into Bill's personal life, what it'd been before all of this and the one he'd originally met him in, was weirdly intimate, and he was irrationally afraid someone would discover his crime against privacy.

The door of the penthouse opened, and the trio consisting of Stan, Ford, and Bill entered. It seemed everything had gone well, with how excited the brothers were as they headed over to the board to plan their next heist. Stan said victoriously, "Another successful job for the Chill Gold Owls of Anarchy and Dudes!"

And he could hear Ford reply, "You could simply say 'Owls of Anarchy', Stanley. We know you're referring to this crew."

Bill didn't join them, walking to the coffee table to pick up his phone and unlock it. Briefly, his eyebrows furrowed, and he slipped his phone into his pocket. Letting out a relieved puff of air, Dipper hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath but relaxed since it seemed Bill hadn't noticed anything was awry.

Sitting up and forcing the last of his nervousness away, Dipper looked to Bill and said, "Well, hello to you too." In reference to the severe lack of acknowledgment. "You don't see me all day, and I don't even get a greeting?"

Bill glanced at Dipper with mild amusement. "Hi. I saw you earlier, cutie."

It was true, but that'd been during the period of absolute mayhem directly before they left for the heist. " _Barely_ , you didn't even get a chance to 'subtly' check me out. If you don't have time for that, it isn't really seeing me since I know you jump at the opportunity."

"You have my undivided attention now, doll. Shake that sweet little ass of yours."

Oh.

Flushing brightly, Dipper gave a quick glance around the room, eyes flicking from Bill to Stan and Ford, then back to Bill again. "But it might attract other attention too.." Not that he planned on doing anything of the sort, but he did need to get Bill alone to thank him for the art supplies, unsure how he'd feel about everyone else knowing about the gifts.

Bill faintly chuckled. "They wouldn't look, but follow me, cutie." He beckoned him toward the balcony door. "What were you up to while we were gone?"

Joining Bill outside, Dipper stood by him as they stalled near the railing, both looking over the city bathed in oranges and reds of the evening. Undoubtedly, it'd soon change to a brilliantly vivid, pinkish hue as the blue tones of night began to sweep over Los Santos. With a shrug, Dipper bit back a smile as he said, "Oh, y'know. Talked to Mabel, watched some television, messed around on my phone. Tried to jack it at one point but you came to mind, so that didn't work out."

"Ah, you must not be doing it right then. Would you like me to help you out with that?"

Dipper averted his eyes, giving an awkward cough. "I'd sooner let that emo guy touch me."

Things were quiet between them for a couple seconds as Bill gazed at the sky, Dipper following his line of sight yet not quite understanding what he was looking for up there. It was the same skyline as ever. But eventually, he spoke, "When Stan walked in, he said something about… the Owls, but it was this huge name?" Dipper wasn't sure what his specific inquiry was, just that he didn't know what Stan had been talking about.

Bill laughed, shaking his head. "Oh stars, kid. You don't want to know about the full name of the Owls."

Too late, his curiosity was piqued. "I do, so tell me."

"The Chill Gold Owls of Anarchy and Dudes. Stan let everyone get involved in the naming."

Dipper couldn't bite back his laugh and joked, "What, do you get to add in a word when you join, or something?"

He shrugged, bringing Dipper's eyebrows to raise. "Basically, yeah. I don't know if Stan would let anyone new add in a name since it's a mouthful already, but all of us were allowed to. Then again, Stan didn't  _like_  that we ruined his name, but he couldn't resist Soos' puppy dog eyes."

"I'd just been kidding about that." But it was entertaining, even if he was glad they used the abridged version in conversation. His tone teasing and light, Dipper deduced, "So clearly, you added in 'dudes.'"

"Guess again, Pine Tree. I'm not as incompetent as Soos is when it comes to vocabulary."

"Oh, that's true. I guess that takes 'gold' off the table."

Bill shot him a dark glare. "It's an element on the periodic table. 'Dudes' is slang from the ghettos."

" _Chill_ , rich boy." He hadn't meant anything by that, but it seemed Bill had taken offense, not a particularly unusual occurrence in general but the response seemed disproportionate to the topic.

His expression only twisted at that, like he got a bad taste in his mouth, and he turned to head to the door. "Bye."

"Bill, come on." Dipper moved to catch his wrist, trying to keep him here since he hadn't gotten a chance to talk to him about the gifts yet. But Bill was still leaving, persistently trudging onward and almost pulling Dipper back inside with him, causing his hand slid down into Bill's — but he was unwilling to let Bill continue and tightened his grip to stop him.

"Don't make this gay, Pine Tree." Bill's voice was a murmur, but he had stopped walking toward the door. His gaze lingered on their interlocked hands before he lifted his eyes to Dipper, who pulled his hand back like it'd been zapped by a static charge, abruptly perceiving what'd happened in his determination to keep Bill here.

Bill slowly returned his hand to his side, a soft sigh escaping him. "At least don't look like my hand stung you. Despite your belief, I'm not a bee."

Although he didn't know why Bill seemed on the verge of disappointed, Dipper grinned faintly and under his breath muttered, "Bee-lief."

"I'm leaving."

Out of habit, he was going to grab for Bill again but remembered the incident only seconds prior. They didn't need to hold hands again, that would surely fuel the widespread impression they were dating. Reminded of his earlier alarm, Dipper said, "Wait. Uh, did… did you know that people around here think we're—" there really wasn't a good way to explain this, and he shuffled his feet, "—like, together? As in, dating?" It was something he'd wanted to mention to Bill after what Mabel implied this morning.

At that, Bill broke into laughter. Dipper blinked in confusion. "Oh, yeah. I forgot I might've told Stan we're together."

" _What_?" he squawked, wide-eyed. "Why?! Why would you do that? A-and  _when_?" Dipper's mind was racing, wondering how long this had been going on, why Bill would think telling Stan they were dating was even… semi-acceptable (it wasn't!), and his motivations for doing so in the first place. Trying to process it, Dipper rambled, "Holy shit, this is— this is why people think we're together! Because of you!" It had nothing to do with the copious amounts of time they spent together or the flirtatious comments or squabbling.

"Well,  _honestly kid_ , I wanted to see how he'd react. He was surprisingly okay with it, even when I told him we were getting married. He offered to pay for the wedding."

The noise he made sounded downright  _inhuman_ , so loud and shrill and panicked and he couldn't comprehend how it'd even come from him. "B-but— but we're… it's not—" Dipper sputtered, tripping heavily over his words as he tried to think of  _something_ at least half-intelligent to say, not quite sure where to start with this. After several seconds of incoherent sounds, he finally managed out, "We're not, though! Not dating or getting married, or anything!"

Bill met his gaze evenly. "That's a shame. Shall I tell him the wedding's off? He's going to be so disappointed."

" _Yes_ , and for the sake of my sanity, stop telling people we're dating!" It wasn't the first time this had been a problem with Bill. It was about the third time, actually.

"It's not my fault we're so perfect for each other,  _doll_."

Bill had a smirk plastered across his face, but Dipper hardly registered it when what Bill said was resounding in his ears, replaying; he remembered that, something similar, it was incredibly familiar and brought uneasy memories. His mind returned to the night at the pier, right after the kiss when everything had started going downhill...

Bill coughed softly, an expression of guilt and regret overtaking his smirk. "Pine Tree?" His voice had dropped as he stepped toward him, a hand cupping his chin and tilting his head so they were facing each other. He could feel something cool and metal on his skin and realized Bill still wore the customized ring.

In a dazed state, Dipper was compliant to the touch, his lidded eyes raising to meet Bill's golden ones. A dreamy "hm?" fell from him, the gentle hum becoming background noise to their unexpected albeit welcome moment of serenity.

"Mason…" Bill lowly murmured his name, eyes flicking down to linger on his lips. There was a certain longing in Bill's gaze, and Dipper instantly knew where this was headed but didn't care because he wanted it too. And letting this moment naturally progress would reward them with what they both desired.

It was in another second that everything caught up to Dipper, and he jolted back from the touch, the loss of contact spurring disappointment but it wasn't as if they could just… kiss on the balcony, not with the others  _right there_. One peek through the wall window and they'd be caught.

Dipper tried to ignore the crestfallen expression that had etched its way onto Bill's face.

Clearing his throat, he paced the balcony briefly to clear his thoughts before turning to Bill again, as he wanted to address the real reason they'd gotten away from the others. With appreciation in his voice, he murmured, "Thanks for the gifts, by the way. You're the best." Not the worst for a change.

Bill's eyebrow raised, and he glanced away from him. "Everyone knows I'm the best, cutie. You don't need to tell me."

"That took you approximately five seconds to ruin," Dipper observed dryly. "When do you want me to draw you? I saw you've already claimed the first page of the sketchbook."

"After I shower?" he offered. "You can meet me in my room."

Dipper muttered sarcastically, "Yeah, I'm sure being in your room will totally squash those 'we're dating' rumors." But then it occurred to him: he'd never been in Bill's room, the thought hadn't crossed his mind since he knew it'd probably be overstepping his boundaries to go into other peoples' bedrooms but here he was extending a golden invitation, and who was he to refuse? A sudden interest gnawed at him.

Bill was already heading toward the door. "Be there in fifteen, cutie."

* * *

And about fifteen or maybe twenty minutes later, there he was, standing outside the door of Bill's room. He couldn't hear the shower running anymore and presumed he was finished, but still wanted to give him a couple minutes to…

Dipper wasn't sure, and quite frankly, he was kind of nervous. The extra time wasn't for Bill to collect himself, it was for Dipper, who didn't even understand why he was this anxious over it. All he was going to do was go into Bill's room—his  _room_ —and draw him.

Sincerely hoping he wasn't walking into a gloomy dungeon filled with death and despair, Dipper used his free hand to give a brief knock on the door, the other holding his art supplies. Internally, he was praying for anything but a pile of animal corpses in the corner or stacks of bones or shackles on the wall...

The door swung open without warning, and all previous thoughts were banished by the sight of a shirtless Bill. It felt like his mind went blank as he could only notice how his blond hair was damp and messy, and his  _body_ – Christ, it was muscular and lean, and littered with various blue, gold, and black tattoos. Dipper recognized the zodiac, some stars, what seemed to be constellations… one of which was  _his birthmark_.

Overcome by wondering how he'd never known about these tattoos, he hardly heard Bill when he said, "Might want to close your mouth, cutie, before a fly swoops in." He guessed he'd never seen Bill in a state of semi-undress, and this… well, he was struggling to process it.

Blinking, Dipper forced words. "Uh, okay." Clumsy words, apparently, and he cursed himself for being ridiculously awkward in social situations. It was a challenge to drag his eyes away from Bill to step inside his room, and although he heard the door being closed, he didn't pay any attention to it since he was too distracted by what laid before him.

He was positively entranced.

It was clean, as pristine as the rest of the penthouse, but that wasn't what had him staring in awe. There didn't seem to be any lights on but it was still quite bright considering it was evening, and he peered upward only to see there was a giant skylight above the equally large bed, the bed that was blanketed in constellation-themed bed sheets and pillows with starry cases.

Eyes sweeping the room, he noticed an impressive bookcase filled with what seemed to be textbooks at a glance, then continued his scan to the mirror and dresser, wall of framed photos, nightstand, small entryway that probably led into a closet, and another door. Standard bedroom things, but what wasn't standard was the lifesize paper cutout of—

Of…

Dipper squinted, uncertain if he had started hallucinating, because it was none other than Lin-Manuel Miranda. Advancing toward the large cutout plastered on the wall, he asked, "Why do you have this?"

"What?" Bill sounded a little defensive. "Lin-Manuel Miranda is a national treasure."

Dipper snickered at that, the snicker turning into a bout of laughter as he caught the  _Hamilton_ pun. "You are a nonstop hurricane of weirdness." He really couldn't believe Bill sometimes, no wonder he didn't let anybody into his room.

Bill smirked. "I'm not throwing away my shot. I gotta rise up."

That only made him laugh harder. "Oh my god. You are such a dork, the biggest dork."

"That's coming from the nerd who brought up 'Non-Stop' and 'Hurricane.'"

"You have a  _huge_ cutout of Lin-Manuel Miranda!" Dipper reminded him, motioning to it as if to demonstrate that Bill was the nerd here, not him.

But he didn't press the issue, currently intrigued by the framed certificates on the wall — there were four total, two four-year degrees and another two doctoral degrees. Examining them, Dipper's eyebrows shot up. "Astrophysics. Astronomy. Really? I should've known." Giggling as he recalled the countless times Bill had insisted on stargazing or just been staring at the sky, he said through the laughter, "You and your fucking stars."

"Doesn't make me any less a doctor, cutie."

Surrounding the framed degrees were photographs of various groups of people, Bill front and center in each. They had years written on them and production titles:  _Oklahoma!, Romeo and Juliet, Grease, Little Shop of Horrors, Guys and Dolls,_ and of course _, The Pajama Game_. Although he'd been about to look away, he stopped as his attention was snagged by one particular detail.

"Holy shit, I'm in this one," Dipper commented, startled. Sure, he was a lot younger and more sweaty-looking, not to mention significantly more awkward, but nonetheless it was him standing amongst the group. They were both so  _young_.

"Yeah, I noticed that the other day. Photobombing the back like a sweaty little shit." Despite the words, there was a lightness to his tone. "You realize that was supposed to be a cast only picture, right?"

It'd been five years, but his cheeks still turned red, and he defensively snapped, "Nobody told me that, okay?" Turning around, Dipper saw Bill had flopped onto his bed, positioned on his side with one arm propping him up while the other laid over his hip bone that was covered by those black and yellow star boxers.

"I'm not drawing you like one of my French girls," he informed him, sitting on the bed.

"Draw me like one of your French men." Bill smirked at him. "Not a lady, sugar. Unlike you."

Rolling his eyes, he figured they should probably skip to what they were here for. "Sit up," he instructed, shuffling to fold his legs and get his drawing supplies ready, "and find a comfortable position because you'll be in it for a while."

Bill shuffled, sitting up straight. Though he had his phone in his hands, his eyes remained transfixed on Dipper.

Once prepared, Dipper set to work on the sketch, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths to ease his mind. The scent of spicy honey surrounded him— it had to be a soap Bill used, it seemed stronger than ever post-shower.

Opening his eyes again, he took in the sight of Bill and tried to capture what details he could before he began. "You know, usually my subjects aren't staring back at me," he mused, "but I suppose that's okay, as long as you can hold that position."

"I can hold it just fine, cherry. Anything to ensure the perfection of your art."

"Mm, okay," Dipper said through a sigh, attention returning to the task at hand. Starting at his hair, he smiled at the way it seemed lazily tossed right now, so different than Bill's perfectionist attitude with his attire, but it was also fitting somehow. The blond locks were mussed and drying, though some still remained plastered to his forehead, one particular strand home to a clinging water droplet that eventually let go and slid down Bill's tanned skin.

He watched as it crossed over his high cheekbones, taking in the sharpness of his facial features and how his bones seemed to jut slightly. Bill's mouth was curved, the corners turned upwards into the faintest display of a smile, bringing Dipper to believe perhaps he was enjoying this, having his undivided attention on him.

The droplet continued down his neck and over a defined collarbone, but Dipper lost track of it after that, distracted by the captivating tattoos marking his toned chest and arms. Dipper didn't know how long he'd done nothing but gaze at them, enjoying the clash of blue and gold and black bleeding into beautiful designs. Constellations and zodiac signs, mostly, but there were scattered symbols and phrases in a foreign language. It looked like Latin.

They were utterly enthralling, rendering Dipper completely fascinated by the inky lines flowing with a creative grace over his bare skin.

But Dipper shook himself from the trance, shuffling for a moment before he started on the sketch, creating a general outline of his face and shoulders, one that gradually became more detailed and marred with dark marks the longer he worked on it. Crude features began to form on the once-blank sheet of paper, followed by smoother lines to accentuate his slim albeit muscular frame.

Eyes raking over Bill's body, Dipper paused to ask, "How did you get the scar on your stomach?" It was a thin, pale line, and didn't look too brutal, but it stood out against the tattooed skin.

Although he'd returned to filling in some of the whiteness with levels of shade, he could see from the corner of his vision that Bill's gaze on him was unwavering. "I was shanked in a fistfight a few years back. The guy pulled out a switchblade in the middle of the fight and stabbed me. I turned it back on him." The last few words had a dangerous edge to them.

"Ouch," Dipper said quietly, "that must've been painful."

"Adrenaline helps immensely. Hardly noticed it until I was in the hospital getting stitched up."

He wondered if Bill had scars unrelated to violence, if any were accidents of a reckless childhood or something similar, but Dipper didn't say anything more for a while, absorbed by working on adding details to his sketch and perfecting the ones that were already captured onto the paper. The lines were coming together nicely, soon enough a decently recognizable bust was taking shape, but he knew there was still plenty more to do before he'd consider it complete.

He didn't look up this time as he inquired, "What about the one on your hand?" It was a scar he'd noticed earlier, this one jagged and longer, spanning his wrist to a knuckle.

When there was no response, Dipper looked up to prompt him and though the exchange was wordless, it shook Bill from his hesitation. "Another fight. There was a woman who was getting ripped off during a drug deal, so I stepped in to educate her dealer on  _proper pricing_  for his cheap shit. He didn't take kindly to that and  _attacked me_  with a knife."

Dipper inhaled, "Jesus Christ."

"I caught it in my hand before it could do further damage and managed to disarm him. The poor woman left– drugless, may I add, and I stabbed the guy in retaliation and took his cocaine. When I went back home, my dad beat me black and blue for being out late and it reopened the scab when I tried to defend myself. Not–  _fight him_ , but keep his blows from hitting my head and throat."

By now, Dipper had stopped drawing to stare at Bill in sympathy, a deep frown tugging at his lips. "He beat you? I— I mean, I know you said he hit you before, but I guess I didn't know…" he hadn't fathomed the extent of the abuse Bill had been facing, his heart feeling heavier at the new information.

"He constantly beat me. Even when I came home with stitches, I was beaten for  _wasting his precious money_  on my injuries. We had millions, and it was still too much for him to pay a few hundred in medical bills."

"Bill…" Dipper murmured sorrowfully, unsure of what else to say. Bill seemed so vulnerable, and all he wanted to do was be there for him, knowing it couldn't have been easy to share these memories of a bad home life. "I'm really sorry."

It seemed they were both in silent agreement to leave the subject behind since Bill didn't offer anything else, and Dipper took that as a sign to focus on the sketch. By now, the shading was in place, the lines were solid, though he was beginning to wish he could've done a warmup piece since the two weeks he'd spent without drawing anything were painful to a trained eye.

His mind wandered while he drew, drifting from Bill's physique to their conversation. Thinking back to what Bill had said, his eyebrows pinched together. "Are… you a drug dealer?" It was funny how the notion hadn't occurred to him before, despite how he'd known what kind of life Bill led.

"Oh no, cutie. Dealing drugs is  _illegal_. I'm a  _freelance pharmacist_ , thank you very much."

Dipper grinned at that. "Sure you are, doctor. By the way, I'm almost done. Just a little bit longer, alright?" The finishing touches on Bill's tattoos were all he had remaining, as he wanted to outline them in ink to make them stand apart from the rest of the sketch.

"Alright, sugarpie. Hey, do you want to try cocaine later?"

"Absolutely not." It was an immediate reply, still as uninterested as he had been the other time Bill asked if he wanted to do cocaine. "It's not as if your story really put in a good word for it either." Dipper's eyes were drawn back to the tattoos as he began outlining, gaze dancing between the sketchbook page and the real thing to ensure it was as accurate as possible.

Bill near-whined at him. "Come  _on_ , it'll be fun. My cocaine is the best damn cocaine you'll ever have."

"I never would've guessed those 'just say no to drugs' tips in school would actually have a use."

"They don't. One of these days, you'll give into your desires. And I'll have a coke buddy. Sharing is better, when I share a Coke with you." The Coca-Cola jingle had a hum to it.

Tuning him out, Dipper's attention seemed to be on Bill's tattoos more than his drawing at this point, but how could he  _not_  be interested in them? They were eye-catching, attractive. But then again, when Bill was half-naked in front of him, it wasn't  _just_ his tattoos that held a physical allure. It felt like he was in a fever dream when he set the sketchbook aside temporarily to place it on Bill's nightstand with the rest of the supplies, because although the drawing was nearly finished, he had a more pressing matter to attend to.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dipper leaned toward Bill, one hand steadying himself on the star-designed bed sheets while the other drifted over his shoulder, dipping down across his chest and tracing the patterns of the ink. His eyes were glassy, trained on the illustrations as he touched them, feeling the warmth of Bill's skin under his fingertips while they dragged over the constellations and symbols in jetblue and bright golds.

"Having fun there, cutie?" Bill's voice was a rumble, and Dipper could feel the distant vibration beneath his fingers. "All this touching and I don't even get a kiss? Naughty Pine Tree."

Shaken from his thoughts, Dipper pulled back, balancing on his knees as his legs stayed bent beneath him. "Oh," he ran a hand through his hair, "I was just…" no suitable excuse came to mind, there probably wasn't one when what he'd been doing was pretty obvious, and he gave up with a gentle laugh. Trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on Bill, he said, "Look, your tattoos are really… they're really nice?"

Before he was even done speaking, Bill was reaching for him, pulling him forward until he was on his lap, and Dipper steadied himself by bringing his hands to Bill's shoulders. "I didn't say stop, doll. That felt nice," Bill informed him. "Put your hands back, cutie. Touch."

Dipper made no move to resume and playfully asked, "I thought you wanted a kiss? Which one is it?"

"Both." The simple word made his breath hitch, his jaw going slack in awe. All he could find himself capable of, once he'd recovered from dumbly staring, was moving his hands lower again, brushing his digits over Bill's chest. Beneath, Dipper could feel his muscles rippling under the inked designs, the mere thought sending a rush of heat through his body.

He hardly had time to react before he felt familiar warm lips against his, gentle but controlling, encouraging him to reciprocate.

Instantly closing his eyes, Dipper leaned into the kiss and began to return it, still hesitant since he felt like he didn't really know what he was doing, but it was pleasant to have their lips pressed together like this, movements slow and sweet. The pace of his hands matched that of their mouths, the pads of his thumbs traveling over Bill's chest, making leisurely circles and taking his time. The innocent kiss lingered until Dipper was forced to pull away, refilling his lungs with a gasp.

"Breathe through your nose, cutie." His voice was teasing, and before Dipper could respond, Bill closed the distance between them again, capturing his lips in a second kiss. It was shorter and they pulled apart too soon, leaving him aching for more, but he was given no time to recompose himself since Bill was diving back in for another.

Just as he started to reciprocate, an unexpected force was urging him backwards, and Dipper couldn't contain the muffled squeak of surprise when he was pushed down, pinned to the bed. Somehow, never breaking the kiss in the process.

In an attempt to become more comfortable beneath Bill, Dipper raised his legs to frame Bill's waist, hands roaming over his back in directionless motions while they continued to kiss. Dipper couldn't pinpoint his wandering desire, just understood the thought of  _more_ , wanting desperately to touch and feel.

This time, he didn't forget to breathe through his nose, hoping to avoid another kiss ending early because of a stupid mistake. He didn't want to pull away, in fact all he wanted was to get  _closer_  and utterly surround himself in Bill.

Seemingly picking up on the positive reception, Bill deepened the kiss, his tongue ghosting over Dipper's lips before slipping between them, delving into his mouth with an enthusiasm that similarly filled Dipper with desire. Bill's taste was a strange mix of coffee and smoke, but surprisingly it worked, an appropriate blend of bitter and sweet. Dipper shyly brushed his tongue along Bill's, as if testing it out for himself, deeming the sensation foreign but all the same quite enjoyable.

Not long after, the kiss broke off, and Bill planted a smaller one to his lips. "You're adorable when you're eager, you know that?" Dipper gave a little huff, digging his fingertips into Bill's shoulder blades in impatience, like that would urge him to keep going again. It was a silent demand, almost pleading when combined with the expression best described as a dissatisfied pout. "Relax, cutie. I just want to talk about… this, before we go any further. Don't want it to be something we regret later, y'know?" In an unusual show of kindness and affection, he brushed a strand of hair out of Dipper's eyes.

"Okay," he rather reluctantly agreed. For once in his life, he'd been willing to jump in head first without any prior thought, no plans or detailed mental maps of the possibilities, and that scared him a bit. While he could still feel a deep blush on his cheeks, his mind was clearer now that they'd separated and he asked with some apprehension, "Why, do you think you'd regret it?"

"Potentially. It depends on what it means to you." Bill gave a halfhearted shrug. "Like, is this something we'll continue to do, or do you want this to be a 'just for today' thing?" It was a good question, one he hadn't given hours of thought to as he did other things, more menial things which wouldn't make a difference in a day.

He had a feeling this decision was far more important. And while he didn't want to regret this, the only regret he foresaw was stopping. "I… I like kissing you," Dipper confessed and looked away, "so if you don't mind, maybe we could— I don't know, keep.. doing it? And not just for today, I mean."

He chuckled, a hand gliding over Dipper's cheek and maneuvering him so they could lock gazes again. Bill was peering down at him, and despite his sharp features, his face seemed to have a strange warmth about it. Perhaps it was an effect of the skylight above them that painted the room with vibrant pinks and blues as evening turned into night, the brightest of stars beginning to peak through. "I'd like that."

Dipper wanted to duck his head but managed to resist the habit, grinning slightly. "So, like, friends with benefits?"

"Yeah." Bill hovered over him for a second before eliminating the space between them, lips brushing against his almost teasingly. A whine, one more pitiful than he'd like to admit, escaped Dipper; he knew he was being played with, and it didn't come close to satiating the increasingly overwhelming want for a kiss.

The sound seemed to be all the convincing Bill needed to indulge him since his lips were crashing against his, teasing dropped while their mouths moved together hungrily. With a flood of adrenaline coursing through him, it was so very intoxicating, precisely what he wanted, needed,  _craved_. And the best part of it was, Bill seemed happy to oblige.

Friends with benefits, Dipper mused. He liked the thought, because there would be no awkwardness or pressure, no proposals or Bill begging him to elope. They could be friends, specifically friends that happened to kiss — it wouldn't be a big deal, it was purely something they did together.

Just an average, everyday bonding activity for heterosexual life partners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All our appreciation goes out to those who've encouraged us with comments and kudos. You're the best, and we can't thank you enough! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Violence, excessive coarse language, slurs, an angsty chapter nobody asked for.

"Hey kid, I'm  _starvin'_. Slop some more grub on my plate, will ya?" Stan had his plate extended in one hand, the remainder of his body sunk into the couch with his legs carelessly thrown on the coffee table.

Next to Stan, Ford gave him a quizzical look. "How many enchiladas can you possibly consume?"

Dipper didn't want to find out since Stan had wolfed down plenty as it was, and he shrugged. "There aren't any left." Everyone had finished eating, Stan managing to inhale more helpings than he could count. While there were a few enchiladas remaining, those were being saved.

Mabel looked up from her plate, a piece of tortilla hanging in her mouth. "Yeah there is, I saw them!" Dipper grinned sheepishly as Mabel outed him and the extra food, but he wasn't budging on Stan's request for another plateful.

Stan grumbled. "Ya holding out on me, kid? For shame, I'm dying over here and you're saving the good stuff for yourself."

Before he could defend himself, Ford cut in again, "Stop being melodramatic, Stanley. You've probably eaten double your recommended daily calories in one evening."

"There's still time to triple it," Stan reminded Ford. "I don't need a  _recommended calorie intake_  anyway, it's my body. My rules."

"Yeah!" Mabel piped in agreement, finishing off the last piece of enchilada and licking her plate clean.

"Yes, I'm aware of your stance. Your body, your rules, your early heart attack."

"The rest of the enchiladas aren't for me," Dipper informed him once the short exchange died down. "I… I thought Bill would like them? Since he had to leave before they were finished." It'd been unfortunate because he knew Bill was looking forward to his cooking again but the call came in unexpectedly, and he'd departed not long after with the vague explanation that he was needed on a freelance job.

Stan scoffed, dropping his plate onto the table, Mabel's joining his. "That jackass doesn't need it. If his precious  _freelance_  work is more important than having dinner with us, he doesn't deserve it. Ya know who does? Me."

Dipper looked from Stan to his empty plate and slightly-protruding stomach. "Maybe I'll make more next time." Probably not, as it'd already been borderline disturbing to see how much enchilada Stan somehow packed into himself.

"Yeah, well, you'd better."

Mabel chimed in. "They're the best!"

Stan retrieved his plate, using his fork to scrape up what little was on it before Ford snatched it away from him, rising from his spot on the sofa to collect the rest of the plates and empty cups. "If you need me, I'll be doing the dishes since Dipper was kind enough to cook for us tonight." And he disappeared into the kitchen, his presence replaced by the sound of the sink running and glasses clinking.

"Honestly though kid, I'm surprised you're still around and not in hiding yet. That Bill is a fucking monster, y'know? Fearsome and unpredictable. What'd you do to get him to let ya into his death chamber? Not even Ford and I are allowed in there."

Dipper paused, blinking at Stan as he tried to process all of that. He'd thought Stan and Bill were at least friends of convenience, so to hear it from him... Bill— a fucking monster? Harsh, especially when it seemed more likely that he was the biggest dork on the planet.

And 'death chamber'... that was all it took to reduce him to giggles as he remembered the starry bed sheets and pictures of a younger Bill from his musical days, plus the cutout of Lin-Manuel Miranda didn't exactly scream fearsome. It'd been a normal bedroom for a giant nerd with an obsession with celestial objects, and that made the term 'death chamber' only funnier.

"He wanted me to draw him," Dipper said, "so he let me enter the 'death chamber.'" Complete with air quotes to accentuate the absurdity, it'd been hard to get through that without bursting into laughter.

"Did you draw him?" Mabel asked, looking up from her phone.

"What else would we be doing?" Dipper realized his mistake. "...Don't answer that. Yeah, I drew him." And then they kissed. A few times. A lot of times.

Mabel almost looked disappointed by his correction. "Darn, I wish you'd done more!"

Stan raised an eyebrow at him, moving on from their discussion. "Were there bodies in there?"

Just ours, Dipper wanted to say but held his tongue. No reason to invite any prying questions about their newly-determined friends with benefits arrangement that'd been kept secret from the others so far. Shaking his head, he answered, "No, nothing like that. Why would you think there'd be bodies?" He had a suspicion, but he was hoping he could hear it from Stan, someone who'd known Bill much longer. The earlier comment had his curiosity heightened.

"He's fucking ruthless, a loose cannon! Why wouldn't there be? I wouldn't be surprised if he had blood smeared all over the walls." Stan slowly sat up. "Was there blood staining the carpet? Chains attached to the walls? Wouldn't be shocked if it was a fucking torture chamber."

Mabel giggled. "Sounds like a kink chamber."

The mere idea, when compared to the reality, had him laughing again, and Dipper wondered if Stan actually  _knew_ Bill because his version of the suit-clad gentleman was much different than his own perception. "I don't know," he looked thoughtful with a hint of a dazed smile. "Bill's... not bad, y'know? He's kind of a sweetheart." A big pushover who pretended to be tough and scary, but ultimately seemed to be trying so hard for him and it was nothing short of wonderful.

Stan burst into laughter. "Nice one, kid! Bill, a sweetheart? I should use that joke sometime!"

Dipper shifted his weight, looking confused by Stan's amusement considering he hadn't been joking about that, and he coughed. "Um…"

"...Oh, you were serious?" He nodded his response, unsure why that'd be so hard to accept as truth. "Hot damn, kid. If I'd known all it'd take is a midget to boss Bill around," he went on despite Dipper's disapproving frown, "I'd have hired one years ago. What, are ya two fucking or something?"

There was an alarmed squeak and he shook his head quickly, then cleared his throat to add, "No, we're not." They were kissing buddies, but beyond that, nothing had happened between them nor was it going to, at least not immediately.

From the corner of his sight, he could see Mabel looking up from her phone again (she'd undoubtedly been texting Pacifica), but this new conversational topic seemed to be more interesting to her.

Stan stared at him for a moment, then gave a long sigh. "Look kid, I think it's time we had a talk. About the Birds and the Bills."

Dipper blushed and mumbled, "I really don't need that." Much less from Stan. He'd already gotten his fair share of sexual education, and it wasn't as if he planned on jumping into things with Bill so fast. They could see how it went.

"I think we both want to know!" Mabel spoke out, grinning.

Stan ignored his protests. "So, when two people love each other and want to express that love physically…  **neither**  of those people are Bill Cipher. He's a self absorbed fuck who's unable to love anyone but himself and he's only using you, kid. Don't sleep with him."

Even if it'd been unnecessary, he found the words of wisdom rather amusing. "Trust me, I'm not going to." He appreciated the advice, but he could make the decision for himself- and if they did sleep together, he wouldn't expect feelings to be involved in it, nor did he want them to be. Dipper had been made well aware of his abundance of sexual exploits before this evening, so it wasn't a surprise to him. A bit more slyly, he said, "But I'm pretty sure self-loving has been  _all_ he's done lately." Unless Bill's freelance work was more risque than he originally thought, he could conclude with a decent amount of certainty that he wasn't getting laid.

Mabel said, "Not everyone else does that as much as you wish you did, Dipper." His cheeks burned while Stan laughed, but thankfully didn't comment. And after shooting them both innocent grins, she slid off the couch, eyes on her phone as she headed into the kitchen. Hopefully she didn't plan on raiding the remaining enchiladas, those were still for Bill when he returned.

"I wouldn't be so sure about Bill, kid. The guy sleeps with everyone– maybe even  _everything_ , so stay away from him. And his bedroom. Besides, if you and Mabel end up joining the crew, we can't have you sacrificing a mission by being in a relationship with him."

His heart sunk as he remembered that, the intimidating issue always lingering in the back of his mind: joining. It wasn't a life he was interested in, but it tore him apart to know Mabel would prefer to stay here, and he was going to be why she couldn't. Harboring extremely mixed thoughts, Dipper had already made lists of the pros and cons. Many pens had met a toothy demise to his plight, meanwhile the floorboards were well on their way to being worn down. He still needed more time to think things over, a little less than two weeks until his decision was due, yet a relationship with Bill was the least of both his and Stan's concerns. "We aren't in a relationship," he ascertained, "even if he told you otherwise."

"Oh, that? I knew he was yankin' your chain, kid. I was in on it, prepared ta tell ya to get ready for the wedding bells, but I can't risk a real relationship if you do end up joinin' us."

Dipper felt a spark of annoyance, but it wasn't  _that_ irritating compared to some of the stuff Bill had done in the past. He expected that sort of behavior from him, but he hadn't thought he'd get Stan to go along with it — maybe he could tattle to Ford later regarding Stan's involvement in the stupid prank just to see what'd happen. Letting it go, Dipper exhaled and ran a hand through his hair as he leaned deeper into the sofa, pulling his sketchbook and a drawing pencil into his lap.

But he didn't get to use it, as Stan distracted him with a mutter of, "Still don't know why you hang around him. Dude probably killed cats when he was a kid." Doubtful, Dipper mentally noted. Bill seemed to have a particular fondness for animals that didn't extend to humans.

However, he wasn't sure why he stuck around Bill either. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was feeling out of place or the seeping loneliness. Maybe he sometimes liked his company or his kisses. Whatever it was, he didn't think his reason mattered when Bill seemed to be the one clinging to him over half of the time, personally speculating that Bill was simply… sad, perhaps lonelier than he was at the end of the day. The incident at the pier tended to point to that, after all. "Like I said earlier, I don't think he's a bad guy. I think he's… had a rough life." It was a light way to describe what came across as a very traumatic childhood and early adult life.

Stan snickered. "Did he sell you some sob story about how he's been attacked and abused? Don't believe any of that bullshit, kid. The guy was never touched by his parents."

The words didn't sink in at first, but when they did, all he could do was blankly stare for what seemed like an eternity.

The calm faded into internal chaos as memories flashed, replayed. Utter lies. Nothing but bullshit, just some made up stories. And for what? His stomach twisted uneasily, betrayal igniting within him like a storm, followed by a typhoon of hurt that crushed him under its weight. "He said he was…?" it was supposed to be a statement, but trailed off like a hesitant question. Dipper wanted to believe Stan was mistaken, that he couldn't possibly know the extent of Bill's history because they'd never been close enough to discuss it in detail, surely— it was a misunderstanding.

"The only one in that family to lay a hand on another was  _him_ , because he killed them. There was a whole court case on it and he ended up on the streets while he waited for everything to settle down so he could claim the inheritance. They didn't have enough evidence to convict the dude, so here he is."

This was snowballing out of control. Dipper felt dizzy like he was going to faint, so many thoughts overwhelming him at once. Trying to take deep breaths, he struggled to keep a grip on himself, on the anxiety just itching for a chance to send him into a panic attack. "B-but the scar— the one on his hand?" It sounded meek. He was clinging to a shred of hope that it wasn't true, any of this; he wished to innocently believe in Bill's version of events because this… this was too much, and he didn't think he could take it. The reality was horrifying. Stan had been right, Bill  _was_ a monster.

Stan shrugged. "When he was on the street panhandling, a guy offered him money out of his car window. He went to take it and the guy pulled the money back in and slashed him with a switchblade. Left a nasty cut."

And now, Dipper was pretty sure he  _would_ actually faint. All of it had been a lie, his entire recollection of events, every single  _vulnerable moment_ he'd shared had been bleeding with dishonesty, and Bill had taken advantage of his willingness to believe him. "Taken advantage" was an understatement; Bill had abused his trust, wrapped him tightly in false tales and now everything was unweaving.

Dipper didn't know what to do, didn't know how to begin to process this newfound deception. The whole time, he'd thought they were making progress.. and Bill was slowly bettering himself.

Another lie. Their entire foundation had been built on insincerity, and like his composure it was crumbling exceedingly fast, splitting apart before his eyes.

"You're lookin' a little pale, kid. Want to lay down or somethin'?"

When he finally registered the words, Dipper didn't say anything but did set his art supplies aside and flop down onto his side, curling tightly into himself. He wanted to be numb, wishing he could shut off his screaming thoughts for a single second of peace.

Stan shuffled beside him, and he could feel him move off the couch. "Well, I'm gonna go find something to eat. Holler if ya need anything."

His voice didn't even seem like his own, raw and broken, when he replied, "Enchiladas are on the counter."

* * *

He didn't know how long he stared at the wall, just trying to get through the rest of the evening and now the night, knowing sleep would be impossible. Luckily, most of the penthouse's residents had left him alone, only with Mabel trying to make conversation before going to bed.

Dipper remained in his curled form, thinking over what Stan said, relaying his words. Analyzing them. Comparing them to what Bill had said, and being upset all over again at what a huge fucking liar he was, once again proving he couldn't be trusted.

The door to the penthouse squeaked open, and the Asshole stepped into the room. "Hello cutie," he hummed as he approached where Dipper was curled. "Did you miss me?"

No. Quite frankly, he was dreading what came next, and he hoped they could bypass it in favor of agreeing they were bad for each other, but the smallest piece of him—the illogical side—continued to pray it was a misunderstanding.

Of what little could break through the thick clouds, moonlight streaming through the wall window had Bill's shadow engulfing him, and he rolled slightly to face him, a sudden fear taking hold. He was looking at not just the liar of the century, but a… a murderer, he'd  _killed his own parents_.

A cold hearted killer with a thirst for blood, able to smooth-talk his way through any situation.

Mind snapping back to the night he'd arrived, he remembered Bill had said they died in a fire… if that had been true— terror filled Dipper's eyes as they were still trained on Bill. A wave of dizziness washing over him once more, he felt nauseous, almost as ill as he had the first day or so following his own parents' murders.

With a sharp gasp escaping him, Dipper squirmed away but no words formed on his tongue. He was rendered completely speechless and didn't know how to begin to address this, everything he'd been told by Stan. Wasn't sure if he even wanted to. In fact, he was pretty sure he wanted nothing more than to never see Bill ever again after how he'd lied to him repeatedly about serious matters.

And to kill his parents… Dipper had no idea how sadistic a person had to be to do such a thing, then lie about an abusive past at their hands.

Bill was gazing down at him, unreadable. "I'll take that as a yes. Hey, are those enchiladas from earlier in the fridge? I'm famished."

Dipper hardly heard the question, still trying to put more distance between them but was hindered by a growing pressure inside his chest, giving several rough coughs as he struggled for air. Leaning over, he clutched at his chest, pained tears forming in the corners of his eyes as the rush of anxiety gripped him like razor sharp claws. He felt like he was choking.

Struggling to regain control over his breathing, something jabbed him in his shoulder. Dipper didn't have to look to know it was Bill and strained through his wheezing, "F-fuckin' get—  _get... away_ from me!"

"Why?" Confusion was evident in his voice. "What the fuck happened while I was gone? I haven't been gone that long, have I?"

Dipper didn't respond immediately, just trying to calm down enough to focus without his thoughts sending him into another spiral of panic. When he was able to take in air without feeling restricted, he murmured with hurt in his tone, "How can you even talk to me? You lied about  _everything_." It was a mystery to him why Bill felt comfortable being here, in his presence no less, knowing he'd been dishonest about important details in his life.

"Oh, that." There was a laugh to his words. "Is that what you're fussing over? Honestly cutie, nothing I've said has harmed you."

It was bad enough to be lied to when he thought they were actually friends, but to be written off without a single effort to make amends was making it worse. It was a blunt, hit-in-the-gut reminder that ending things completely—whatever remained—was the best course of action for them. "I don't care, okay? I don't want to hear it." Dipper didn't think he could deal with this, with  _Bill_  as a person if this was how it was going to be between them. And he realized, "You were right, I can't handle you."

"You seemed to be handling me just fine when we were making out, doll. Why's this such an issue, anyway?"

"Because I can't trust you!" Dipper snapped, motioning wildly. "I don't know if you're— if you're telling the truth or making shit up, or something in between! You fucking took advantage of my sympathy, and I can't believe I was so ...so stupid! To think you were above that!" It spewed from him in an angry, bitter rant, but underneath it all was a deep sense of betrayal since he'd truly believed in Bill, and in one swoop it was gone.

Bill huffed softly. "Isn't that part of the fun, cutie? You need to relax." He moved to set his hand on his shoulder, but Dipper flinched from the touch. "Seriously. I will…  _try_  to not lie again, how's that?"

Dipper held his stare for a couple seconds, trying to fight down the tears—this time, not from pain—threatening to spill over his cheeks, and eventually he shook his head. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "that's not good enough. I can't trust you." It was a repeat of what he'd said before but remained true; if he didn't trust Bill, he wasn't sure when he was lying, if he was lying right now.

"What can I do to fix that?" Bill's hand cupped his chin, lifting his head up so their eyes met. He blinked but didn't pull away, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto Bill's hand. "Take a breath, cutie."

Dipper almost didn't want to look at him, afraid of what he might see, but he also couldn't bring himself to drag his eyes anywhere else. "Bill—" his words sounded thick, "it's not like that." It wasn't a home improvement project, it wasn't about to be fixed with a few magic words and some duct tape.

Annoyance crossed Bill's expression. "How is it not?" He nearly demanded, squeezing his jaw firmly. Dipper gave a light whine of discomfort, puzzled by the abrupt change. "If I was able to get over you  _snooping_  on my phone," upon seeing his deer-in-the-headlights look, he went on, "oh yes, I  _know_  about that, you should be able to get over my lack of telling you every little fucking detail of my life."

"It's not that you didn't tell me details, you intentionally told me the wrong ones to… what, make me feel bad for you?" Although not hard enough to physically harm him, Dipper shoved Bill back to release his death grip on his jaw, the two of them simply holding the gaze of the other for the longest time. Dipper was still caught up in how Bill had known about that, the phone incident, yet hadn't said anything. He was ashamed and knew he shouldn't have, but it was difficult to feel regretful now when Bill had done so much worse. " _Why_?"

The truth was worse, so much more brutal and hard to comprehend, than he could've ever imagined: "Because it was  _fucking easy_. It was  _funny_  to  _watch you eat_   _anything_  I fucking told you. I didn't think I'd get fucking  _sold out_  by, who, fucking Stanley? I should ring his guts out on some drying racks." The aggravation in his words was palpable. "But you know what? I should've expected that from  _him_. I didn't expect you to go through my shit with your greasy little fingers."

"Look, I'm  _sorry_ I went through your photos," Dipper snapped his apology. "It was different, seeing you like that, when you were… I don't know, at least  _trying_ to be something more than… than  _this_?" Dipper gave a careless wave in his direction. But he knew his true colors, they were right here in front of him. Shining through as bright as ever. And while they were on the topic of expectations, he added, "It was a mistake to expect better of you when I should've realized from the start this is all you'll ever be." It was so... sociopathic to be lying to him for nothing more than his own entertainment.

Heavy footsteps made the floor creak, and Stan stepped into the room, rubbing at his eyes. "Hey assholes, if you're gonna fight, do it fucking outside. I'll get my camera."

"Fuck off, you fat bastard." Bill's focus had moved on from Dipper in favor of glaring at Stan.

Dipper tried to stop this from escalating, knowing no good could come of two short-tempered individuals. "No, the fight's over. We're done here." There was nothing more to discuss, as far as he was concerned. Anything left between them was ruined, wrecked by Bill's mistreatment.

Stan took an intimidating step toward them, his attention never leaving Bill. "The fuck did you say to me, you little shit?"

Bill didn't back down, eyes flashing with fury. "I called you a fat bastard, you cunt-sucking asslicker. Go back to fucking your brother in the ass, Stars know that's the only action you'll ever get with that fucking mouth of yours."

"Bill,  _stop_ ," Dipper snarled. "Don't bother, it's not like we have anything else to say to each other." This fight wasn't going to get them anywhere.

"You shut the fuck up,  _Mason_."

He glowered. "Make me, you fucking jackass!"

And against his expectations, Bill actually took him up on the challenge and lunged, using his full weight to shove Dipper down onto the couch cushion, the forceful impact pushing all air out of his body. He was on top of him, his hands reaching around his throat, pressing down onto his airway…

A moment later it was gone, replaced by a shattering  _CRASH_ and Bill was the centerpiece of a broken coffee table.

"Bill!" Eyes going wide, the motion was involuntary, a pure reflex, as he sat up in panic and worriedly rushed over to him. He hated that he cared, absolutely  _loathed_ himself for giving a damn about that liar. He didn't want to.

His breathing was sharp, erratic like he was in pain and trying to conceal it. Bill hardly moved on the collapsed table, the only sign of stirring the twitching of his fingers. "Bill?" Dipper said, gentler this time. "Come on, it's okay." Hopefully, this wouldn't be a trip to the emergency room...

Even Stan had come over, a 'whoops' expression across his face. It didn't last long– once he was standing beside Dipper, Bill popped up and socked him hard in his stomach, the timing had been calculated and it seemed to hit its mark since Dipper could hear Stan's grunt of pain. "Son of a bitch!"

"What in the  _world_ is going on in here?" resounded another voice, Dipper looking beyond the two to see Ford standing in the entryway. Adjusting his glasses, he appeared to be anything but happy. "Cipher, Stanley," his words were tense. "An explanation, if you will. Right now."

Bill rubbed his hand on his back, wincing slightly. "None of your damn business, Hen."

"This asshole was trying to choke Dipper," Stan grunted. "I threw him into the coffee table."

"I see. Is that true?" His gaze flicked between him and Bill, but Dipper didn't know how to respond when it was more complicated than that.

Bill spat on the floor. "He asked me to."

That was a definite misrepresentation of events, and he protested, "I did not!"

"You said 'make me', Pine Tree. Fordsy, your husband overreacted."

"He's not my husband, and it doesn't make a difference! You don't respond with violence, Cipher. You two, go to bed. And Stanley," his eyes shifted to him, "we'll talk about this in the morning while searching for a replacement table."

Stan grumbled and moved to join Ford's side. "Guess I'll need a shot of Sam in the morning." They disappeared into the hallway together, though Dipper could still hear Ford chiding him over the alcohol comment.

Bill had dragged himself off the broken table, slowly starting toward the door of the penthouse.

Dipper watched, frowning. "I guess this is it?" he spoke softly, a request for closure because after this, there'd be no reason to interact with one another. He knew he couldn't stay past the two week timeframe if he couldn't even be around Bill.

"No. You're coming with me." His voice was low, a dangerous edge to his words.

Dipper gave a bitter laugh, "Actually, I'm not. Bye."

Bill was upon him in a matter of seconds, hand firmly grasping his arm as he pulled him to the door, Dipper squirming and fighting him the entire way. "Didn't say you had a choice."

Still trying to frantically escape, Dipper threatened, "Let me go, or I'll yell for Stan."

"Yes, I'll let you go  _with me_. Call for Stan if you'd like, the Mother Hen has him in her grasp and there will be no saving you."

That gave him pause because hardly a word of it had made sense. Extremely confused, Dipper asked, "Did you hit your head, or what?"

Bill's spoke in a frustrated growl. "I just want to go on a drive with you. I don't  _want_  to hurt you."

"Why?" he demanded, managing to elbow Bill and scoot away from him, placing a bit of distance between them. "Don't you get it? I'm done." The lies, the murders of his own parents, the disregard for his emotion… it'd been enough for one friendship, the thought of that word leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

"No," Bill insisted. "You're not fucking done, Pine Tree. You can't be fucking  _done_ , if you're  _done_  then I guess I'll have to fucking shoot myself to get you out of my goddamn head."

"What?" Dipper breathed, momentarily stunned, but he shook the thoughts away, "No, you… you don't care, about anyone or anything. I know you don't. If you did, you wouldn't have  _lied_ to me for your own entertainment, or because it was  _easy_."

"Yeah, you fucking know everything, don't you? You know how to get under my skin, invade my privacy, and  _freak out on me_  when I'm not a hundred percent honest with you over shit that doesn't matter. None of it would've affected you if you had just let it go, but you  _had_  to make it big."

"Don't you realize that lying over shit that 'doesn't matter' is fucking  _psychotic_?! It's sick!" It meant he was purely lying for the fun of deception, the thrill of getting a reaction out of others. But it had mattered to him, even if Bill claimed it didn't; it'd mattered to him because he thought it was Bill's attempt at baring his soul and bringing them closer, establishing a trust, when it couldn't have been further from that.

"Leave if you're so fucking  _sickened_  by it. If you hate me so much…" he trailed off, dropping his arm. "It's always that, isn't it?" he asked in a quieter tone. "You always end up hating me over stupid shit."

"I don't  _hate_ you," though he wanted to, he really.. really wanted to, and it irritated him that he couldn't, "but I do think you're a sadistic jackass who intentionally hurts the people around him, for literally the most selfish,  _bullshit_  reasons to ever exist. I believed you— I believed  _in_ you, and you exploited the hell out of it because… why? Because it was funny?" Dipper thought that was the word he'd used. "Well, it fucking HURT and I'm… I don't want…" he trailed off, giving up as he lost steam. He didn't know what to say.

Bill had averted his gaze, looking down the hall at the staircase. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Dipper found it difficult to believe him. "How can you be sorry if you don't even understand? This whole time, you've been claiming that it didn't matter or otherwise brushing it off." And had shown not a single pinch of remorse, until his apology. "Tell me why it suddenly makes a difference to you."

"Well…" he hesitated, speaking quietly. "You just said it hurt you. I don't… I don't  _like_  hurting you, kid."

Looking away as well, Dipper kicked his foot as he tried to figure out something to say to… that. "I don't know, Bill…" there was a waver in his voice. "I just don't know how to trust you. What if you're lying to me?" Dipper spoke his thoughts aloud, returning his gaze to Bill to gauge his reaction. "Lying to me so we… get close, and you do this again?" He wasn't going to put himself through it all another time, he just couldn't.

His laugh was short, broken. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. Is there… really no way to make this up to you?"

Keeping his eyes lowered, he mumbled, "I don't get it. Why do you  _want_ to? I know you say you like being around me, but— but then why would you..?"

"Would you go on the drive with me? I think that would… help me relax, and we can discuss this further." Bill's voice was shaky.

Dipper sighed, defeated and yielding as he extended a hand toward Bill. "Please don't make me regret this." It wasn't a promise they were going to restore anything, merely an opportunity to see if it was an option.

Bill took his hand and led him down the stairs into the garage.

* * *

Once they were in his gold-plated Ferrari and out of the garage, the ride went surprisingly smoothly. Like Bill wasn't trying to kill them in a horrible crash. Similarly, Dipper was finding the drive to be rather calming himself since they weren't breaking speed limits or completing dangerous maneuvers.

Bill's eyes were trained on the road, occasionally swapping into another lane if the one they were in tried to trap them in a turn only.

It was several minutes before Bill said anything, but when he did he seemed more composed. "Look..," he began, "I know I fucked up. A lot. But the thought of being without you is kinda killing me."

Dipper was still nervous and distressed, uncertain if he should be trusted after everything. It was a guessing game, what was sincere and what was another lie to add to the giant pile of dishonesty. "I… I guess you're not looking forward to what happens in a couple of weeks, then."

"What, are you… are you leaving?"

A heaviness settled in him. "I thought you knew…?" it was barely more than a whisper. "I'm not sure yet, I guess. It's… complicated." With Mabel's desire to join, and Stan's rule about keeping them together.

His voice was a murmur. "No, no. You said you'd stay..? You  _promised_."

Bill had lied about so many things, and Dipper was still hurt and furious with him over that. Telling him he'd stay hadn't been… a  _lie_ , necessarily, but more of an understanding that Bill wanted to remain in contact, not keep him at the penthouse forever. Dipper gave a sad, humorless laugh and said, "I feel like I'm not really cut out for the gangster life. Remember when you said I didn't fit in? You had me figured out since the beginning." But even so, he was going to try for Mabel's sake, give it an honest attempt before he made a final decision.

Bill's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "I didn't mean that…" The quietness of his voice remained, distant. "Why would you lie..? If you knew you wouldn't..."

Anger igniting in him, Dipper lashed out like a wounded animal, "Because it was funny.  _Easy_." The second it had left him, he felt a stab of regret.

"I see…" he trailed off, gazing at the road.

Knowing he'd overstepped a boundary, he sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't… have said that. I'm just— I can't believe you." The betrayal had cut deep.

"Don't apologize."

"I didn't mean to lie," Dipper explained, guilt dripping into his tone. "I thought… we both knew? And understood I couldn't  _stay_ if I wasn't going to join."

Bill shook his head. "I believed you'd stay. That you… that you wouldn't leave me alone. I guess this is what I deserve."

"I'm still really upset with you and wish I could hate you," he paused in thought, "but… you don't deserve that, and you're not alone." Even without him, Bill had Stan, Ford, Soos, Wendy… probably others as well.

"No," he corrected. "I've never once been allowed to glimpse happiness for long. It's always been... stripped away, because of me. I will always be alone."

"Your dogs," Dipper said quietly, recalling how genuinely happy Bill had appeared in those pictures. No use in holding back when Bill already knew he'd looked through his photo albums and saw the images of them.

Bill looked like he'd been hit. "They're dead. My parents killed them. They… determined my dogs,  _who wouldn't hurt a fly_ , were a danger to their shitty ankle biter and that they both needed to be put down."

Dipper was about to express his sympathy but stopped himself, guarded. "Please,  _please_ don't be lying about this, Bill.." his voice cracked. "I swear to god. I can't take any more."

He didn't look at him, fixated on the road ahead. Dipper didn't know where they were going, they seemed to be leaving Los Santos and heading into the countryside. "I snapped when I found out. I had the vet give me their ashes and had them stored away safely, so I could bury them where I wanted. My parents… I tied them up. I broke the neck of their fucking dog in front of them. Then I burned them, their house, all those fucking  _memories_. The cops were certain it was me, but I barely left anything behind. The fire consumed what little I did."

Terror overtook him, his heart on his sleeve as he stared at Bill in disbelief. It was so incredibly morbid, so horrible, but it wasn't as if he could stop listening. This conversation was like a trainwreck he couldn't tear his eyes from, and seemed important to Bill, even if it made his stomach churn. Despite his reasons, it was hard to look past the fact that he'd killed his parents, especially when the deaths of his own were painfully recent.

There was a single pause of tranquility before the old wave of grief ambushed him, and Dipper let the stress, the frustrations, the fear and sadness of tonight consume him as he started absolutely bawling, breaking down into ugly sobs. The tears streamed freely down his cheeks as he hiccuped and sniffled, emitting pitiful wails of mourning, of distress, his emotional response to everything that'd happened. It'd been bottled for too long and reached its limit.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that. Dipper's despairing sobs were the sole sound over the noise of the vehicle, and Bill didn't say anything more.

Gradually, the crying had dwindled to stray tears and the occasion sniffle, Dipper feeling more tired than anything else as he noticed the car slowly rolled to a stop. Placing it in park, he exited the vehicle and glanced at Dipper, moving to the passenger side and reaching to take his hand. "You okay there?"

Rubbing the leftover tears from his puffy eyes, Dipper shook his head. Nothing seemed okay when all of it was a wreck. He unbuckled his seatbelt and took Bill's hand, allowing himself to be brought out of the car.

"Want a piggyback ride?" Bill offered him once he was completely out of the vehicle, the door closed behind him.

About to answer, he was confused as he felt a droplet of rain, then another, and more until he realized it was actually drizzling out. Rain in San Andreas was a rarity. "It's… raining?" Dipper murmured, slightly concerned. "Shouldn't we head back? The roads are going to start getting wet." On the subject of leaving, he didn't even know where they were and peered around Bill, eyes going wide. "Why are we  _here_?"

A cemetery, in the earliest morning hours. The sun wasn't even beginning to come up yet, and the circumstances—nighttime, rain, oh right  _graveyard_ —were giving him the creeps.

Beside him, Bill chuckled. "Don't be such a Sun Slut, a little rain won't hurt anything." He turned his head, looking at the rows of tombstones. "To prove to you I wasn't lying."

Dipper sighed, gazing to the car. He was tempted to get back inside. "You have nothing to prove to me. I know you don't want to hear this, but…" the choked feeling was back, the words caught in his throat. When he'd said he was done earlier, he meant it since all of this was too overbearingly painful to take in, but he knew he shouldn't have trusted Bill in the first place. Bill's reasons for lying were sociopathic, downright evil. Forgiveness was a distant dot on the horizon.

Bill didn't let him continue, leaving his side to go to the trunk and after opening it, he retrieved a yellow umbrella. While handy, Dipper didn't know why he'd own one, being a resident of San Andreas, but he guessed his Florida roots may have something to do with it. He closed the trunk, but refrained from opening the umbrella as he returned to Dipper's side. "So, you wanna piggyback?"

"Okay." Dipper didn't want to argue it and moved toward Bill, but he stopped as he remembered something. "Wait, your back…" the incident with the coffee table couldn't have been a comfortable experience, and he didn't want to cause him further strain.

"It's fine. Maybe has some minor bruising, but you're not going to agitate it more." Almost teasing, he added: "Not with your noodle body."

Hesitating, he carefully hoisted himself onto Bill's back and shifted until he was comfortable. Now that he was off his feet, it didn't take long for the fatigue to return. This evening had thoroughly drained him since he hadn't been able to sleep, and he let his eyes close as he relaxed into Bill, the droplets of rain pelting him forgotten. He could hear the sound of metal rustling and then a gate creaking, but he didn't need to open his eyes to know Bill had probably just broke into the place.

Beneath him, he could feel Bill's movements as he walked and was strangely pacified by the rhythmic swaying. But all too soon, they stopped, and Bill's hands on his legs gently urged him to slide off. "Take it easy, Pine Tree. We're here."

Once he was on the ground again, every inch of him seemed to protest at the effort, but he ignored it in favor of looking at the headstone, 'Buttercup' and 'Poppy' engraved in gold across the black granite. "Oh," it was a near involuntarily noise, the sound falling from him in a hushed awe laced with an indescribable sorrow. Dipper knelt down by the stone, ignoring the wetness of the grass on his jeans to quietly ask, "Your dogs?"

"What's left of them," was Bill's hollow response. "Compacted into two black boxes, never again able to feel the wind in their fur and the mud beneath their paws."

Dipper emitted a shuddering breath. "I don't know what to say." He wanted to apologize but knew it wouldn't be enough, wouldn't even begin to touch the surface. The gravity of the situation seemed insurmountable.

Bill didn't say anything, settling down behind him and pulling Dipper's body into him, off the wet grass and into his lap. The droplets of rain ceased as the umbrella came up, the  _drip_  on the umbrella the only reminder of the drizzle.

Dipper was grateful for the warmth and leaned back into Bill's chest, simply sitting there wordlessly for who knew how long. Once again, it felt like there was nothing to say, and even the most eloquent words weren't about to do this moment justice. "Thank you," was what he finally managed in a gentle murmur, "for showing me this." It was something true, a real vulnerability that wasn't fabricated by Bill for the sake of amusement.

"Don't think I had much of a choice," he muttered lowly, his chin resting on the top of his head.

Tinged with uncertainty, he questioned, "What do you mean?"

Bill shrugged, voice quiet. "You wouldn't have believed me otherwise."

"Maybe not," he agreed with a lazy shrug, "but does it really matter?" Rebuilding a trust was going to take far more than this, if it was to be repaired to the state it'd been in before he found out he'd lied about his so-called tragic life. Dipper admittedly had his doubts, still wasn't sure if it was worth bothering to pursue after being burned so many times. "Because that's all it is… I believe you, with this."

"At least that's something." There was some movement behind him, and Bill's jacket was laid on top of him, minus one cigarette that'd found its way into Bill's mouth.

"I know. I just wish it wasn't... so small in comparison to everything that used to be." What he had thought they had, to be more accurate, since it'd been based on lies and dishonesty, now it was disintegrating into nothing more than the cold truth that Bill had been toying with him.

The smell of cigarette smoke surrounded him, he wrinkled his nose. "I don't know what else you want from me."

Dipper didn't know what he wanted from him either. "If we're just going to Stan Method it after this, then you don't owe me anything except the decency of keeping your distance." Then he would be gone, they wouldn't have to worry about it ever again.

"You know I don't want that method," he reminded him. "I'd be better off walking away right now and getting a cop to kill me."

With a slight edge, he said, "If you're trying to guilt me with that, it's not going to work. I know you can live without me, you've survived twenty-five years."

At that, he scoffed. "I spent twenty-five years hoping for the sweet embrace of death. You and those dogs were the only light I had, and… I'm losing that all."

He didn't respond right away, opting to close his eyes for a few moments to clear his thoughts and listen. Listen to the rain soaking the grass around them, the pitter of the droplets on the umbrella, the dull thud of Bill's heartbeat in his chest. "If you want to see if we can," Dipper swallowed, "fix this… then you need to be completely honest with me. No more lying or… partial truths, or any of that." And after they were done talking, they could decide what they wanted to do. There was so much to say, too much to talk about before there was even a chance of picking up the broken pieces.

"Alright." Bill sighed softly, breath tickling his hair. "I will… be honest with you."

As if worried Bill would change his mind, or perhaps trying to measure the validity of the promise, he stayed quiet for a couple long minutes before he spoke. "I don't get it," Dipper said, voice heavy with emotion. "If you cared so much, why would...?" He didn't understand why he'd intentionally mislead him and although Bill gave an explanation, it didn't compute with his expectations of friendship. Trying to rephrase, he said, "I just don't understand. You say you like being around me and that I'm not an object to you, but then… you lied about this huge thing, and had me feeling so bad for you. You took advantage of my trust, and shrugged it off at first." Bill's flippant attitude about his concerns had definitely stung too, not nearly as bad as the rest but nevertheless implied that Bill didn't give a damn about hurting people.

There was a hint of frustration in what came next. "What do you want? I have a habit of manipulating people, have as long as I can remember. It's  _fucking hard_  for me to do anything but that, because I've always fucking failed at other social interactions. It's exhausting."

Dipper tilted his head, wanting to hear Bill's heartbeat again. It was a nice, steady rhythm. Calming, like the sound of the raindrops and being carried. "If you want this, you're going to have to  _try_. You can't manipulate me and at the same time call this a healthy dynamic."

"I already told you I'd try. I said I'd be honest, I've asked what I can do. It's like you'll never be satisfied with my answer."

The statement hit him hard. "I thought you'd understand why."

"I'm  _trying_ , but no matter what I do it's like… it's like you're Stan beating me down with a baseball bat, smashing in my head until I can hardly move because you're unwilling to give me another chance. It feels impossible to get back up."

"I'm  _afraid_ , okay? That's why I feel like I have to." Dipper's voice cracked. "I'm fucking scared out of my mind that you're going to get close to me, and hurt me again."

Bill withdrew his chin from his head. "Sugar, I'm not going to hurt you."

Dipper felt tears beginning to run down his cheeks again, almost wishing they didn't have the umbrella so he could blame the rain. "I'm just so...  _so_ terrified you will. Because you keep saying you w-won't," he sniffled, wiping away the tears, "but then you  _do_ and I don't know what to believe anymore."

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I am really trying to avoid that. I don't want to hurt you."

With the sudden urge to see Bill, he grabbed the black blazer in his lap and slipped it on. Perhaps if he wasn't busy fighting back tears, he'd find amusement in the way the sleeves hung well past his hands, and the tails rested at his knees. Shifting so he was sitting in Bill's lap, facing him, Dipper blinked in surprise as he noticed the mistiness of Bill's dichromatic eyes because he'd never seen Bill show emotion like that; he'd never cried in front of him, Dipper hadn't even realized crying was something he was capable of. When he found his voice again, he whispered shakily, "I want to trust you, but this is it, okay? This is the last time you can hurt me like that and walk away with a chance to repair it."

Bill's voice was barely above a whisper. "Okay." His hand drew back to wipe at his eyes, turning his head away from him.

Discontented with the loss of eye contact, Dipper amended the issue by gently guiding his fingertips against Bill's jaw to urge him back. "Hey, it's alright." Kind of, maybe. There was a possibility of things being alright in the future, specifically. "I'm sorry I made it feel impossible for you. I'm just… afraid of this. Us, I guess. Getting hurt." There was that confession making a reappearance, the little vulnerability and the crack in his armor.

The short laugh he received was almost hollow in nature, though he allowed his head to be turned back to Dipper. "Don't be sorry, doll. I should get… used to that, I guess. Not necessarily from you." A soft sigh escaped him, his arms slowly moving to wrap around him. "I really don't want to hurt you."

With Bill's arms around him, Dipper collapsed forward to rest his weight against Bill as his chin found comfort in the crook of Bill's neck, but he whimpered — putting pressure on his throat wasn't a pleasant sensation after he'd been choked earlier.

Bill's hand slowly ran up and down his back in a repetitive motion. "How're you feeling, sugar?"

"Tired," Dipper mumbled, then winced. "Throat hurts."

"Internally or externally?"

"Hurts like some maniac tried to choke me."

Bill paused as Dipper pulled back to see him. "Ah, so the nasal dripping isn't the culprit."

"No, just the booger that is you."

"I'll wipe myself on you."

"Gross," he sighed, too exhausted to do anything but spill his thoughts with minimal filtering. "If that's what breathplay is like, it was really terrifying. I… I'm glad Stan was there."

Bill raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, no… breathplay would be consensual and negotiated… ah." He shuffled uncomfortably beneath him. "Sorry."

He gave a shrug. While the choking hadn't been enjoyable by any means, it probably wasn't been the most painful part of the evening. "I know you wanted to make me shut up," since he'd challenged him to, "but… there are better ways, a-and to be honest I don't want to be choked again." There was the smallest hint of a laugh at the end of his sentence, realizing it was weird that he had to clarify.

"Better ways?" Bill attempted a light tone. "Enlighten me, doll." And in response, Dipper shot him an expression that oozed 'are-you-kidding-me.' More seriously, he continued. "But really, that wasn't… okay on my end in any way. I won't do that again."

"So… you're not going to hurt me physically or emotionally," Dipper clarified. The tiniest, tentative smile played on his lips. "I don't know if I like who you've become, you're not the Bill Cipher I had an embarrassing crush on five years ago."

Bill offered him a smile. "You say that like you're still not obsessed with me." A pause, like a thought occurred to him. "... Are you still going to leave?"

Any traces of happiness disappeared from his expression, replaced by a frown since the anxiety-riddled thoughts were rushing back to him. Mabel wanting to join, Stan deciding it'd either be both or neither— and Bill had clearly expected he wouldn't be going anywhere, but he didn't know how feasible it was. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "I told Mabel I'd try, like… seeing if being a part of the crew could pan out, but I don't even meet that Space Bird requirement thing."

"You have a couple weeks," he reminded him. "Plenty of time to get the required few pounds in. We'll go to Burger Shot everyday and get coffee on the way back."

That was far from the sole issue. "Okay, but I'm still… not like you. I won't be able to, y'know, kill anybody." He didn't even want to do anything illegal, for that matter. It was going against the ideals he'd been raised with and his own morals.

Bill shrugged. "Don't have to kill anyone, I'll take care of that if it comes up."

Although he had his doubts about that, he went on with increasing anxiety, "What about… seeing the people I care about die? What if Mabel gets hurt or— or killed? I don't want to have to watch that." He didn't want to  _live_ that, his parents deaths had already wrecked him.

"How about this, cutie: if shit hits the fan and there's no way we can escape, I'll take you down myself. Quick and easy, you won't see or feel anything."

The thought was… depressing. Gruesome. But it was also appealing in a way, not having to see his loved ones suffer. Dipper held his gaze for a moment before nodding slowly, "Alright." Only if there was no chance of survival for any of them, then it would make sense.

Bill's finger came up, touching Dipper's mouth as if to silence him. "There's a condition, sugar. You'll need to take care of my dogs in the afterlife."

Raising his eyebrows, Dipper asked, "You… think there's an afterlife?" It was odd coming from Bill.

"Of course. I'm a good Christian boy, darlin'."

Dipper had to wait for his weak laughter to subside before he could even begin to tackle that. "A good Christian boy," he said as if thinking it over. "I honestly can't tell if you're joking about that."

He chuckled. "I was raised Roman Catholic. I believe in Heaven and Hell, and I can assure you the Big Guy Downstairs and I are going to light it up as I burn for all eternity."

Dipper looked intrigued. "You know, if you want me to be able to take care of your dogs, I think that takes premarital sex off the table."

"It's easy to sign the marriage certificate, cutie."

His "solution" was followed by a protesting squeal of Bill's name.

"What? It's true! We just need to pop into a courthouse, pay a small fee, sign a paper, and  _boom_. You're Mrs. Cipher."

"Pass." Dipper's thoughts returned to the previous matter of conversation, and he said, "Look,  _if_ there's an afterlife, I'll take care of your dogs in it. At least until you get there." Regardless of what Bill said, Dipper figured the entrance requirements couldn't be too strict if he'd be qualifying.

Bill's smile grew sad. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I won't be joining you." He glanced away at their surroundings, the darkness melting away with the coming sun, long shadows painting the cemetery as the cloud-covered sky became lighter. "We should head back, cutie."

Dipper nodded his agreement and said, "Yeah, I feel like I could sleep forever."

"You can always sleep in the car," Bill said, moving slowly from under Dipper as he grabbed the gun on the ground. He unloaded the bullets and slipped both the gun and ammo into his pocket. "Can you get the umbrella? I'll still carry you."

Dipper made a soft "mhm" noise and took the umbrella, looking at it for a couple seconds and turning it over in his hand. "Is there… an off button or something? How do you get it folded like before?" Maybe a dumb question, but rain was an uncommon forecast in San Andreas; he'd never had a need for one of these.

Bill stared at him for a moment. "Do you… not know how? How do you not know how?"

"It doesn't rain here!" Dipper huffed. "Not everyone is a Florida Beach Boy with organs of gold and a heart of pure evil."

"Stars, you're hopeless." He stepped over to take the umbrella from him, pressing the button on the handle to make it collapse and pushing it down. He wrapped the fabric around the post and sealed it with the band. "I'm making you do it next time, cutie."

Dipper snatched the umbrella. "Just carry me to the car." He was dripping with exhaustion, worn down entirely, and he wasn't a fan of standing around in the rain.

Bill chuckled, and he closed the distance between them to lift him up bridal-style. Resting the umbrella on his stomach with a hand to keep it in place, Dipper nuzzled into Bill's chest and closed his eyes, once more reminded of how overtired he was, how he felt like he'd been running on nothing but sheer adrenaline for most of the evening and night.

The walk to the car was quiet, and when they arrived at the vehicle and a door was opened, Dipper felt himself get lowered into the backseat, with Bill joining him shortly after to collect the umbrella and stash both that and his gun into a seat pocket. There was the distinct the click of the door being locked. "Get some rest, cutie."

Dipper shifted in search of a comfortable position on top of Bill, resting his head in the wonderful space between his shoulder and neck, then allowing his eyelids to flutter closed. "We're not going back? Is this it— we're eloping?"

"Nah, not really up for driving that far while I'm sleep deprived." He paused for a moment. "You wanna elope?"

"Hah." It was a short, feeble laugh.

"Well cutie, why didn't you say so? I can get us to the nearest courthouse in about five minutes."

There was a faint smile on his lips as Dipper mumbled, "Shut up and let me sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly Sunday for the next update?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sexual situations (!!)

The penthouse had been quiet, everything peaceful for a change. Stan and Ford were spending most days in their room, plotting the next heist for the crew, and Bill hardly saw them over the past couple days. However, he was fine with that because their preoccupation combined with Mabel constantly leaving to be with Pacifica gave him more time to enjoy Dipper.

They'd tentatively reinstated their friends with benefits deal but hadn't done much more than that. Bill wasn't sure where they stood, and pushing the boundaries would only drive the kid away. While Dipper seemed okay with him, comfortable for the most part, there was a lingering distrust. The incident with his past must've rattled the kid, the way he looked at him with the brief glimpse of distrust whenever he said something serious. There was a divide between them, their relationship seemingly fractured over that stupid incident.

And now, Bill was lying awake during some obscene hour of the night (he didn't want to know), staring blankly through the skylight at the clouded sky. It was unfortunate how rest never came to him, but it was hard to be surprised when this was a recurring aspect of his life.

Dragging his overtired body out of bed, he grabbed his blazer before wandering down the hall and to the balcony.

Keeping cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket came in handy more often than not. Outside, Bill lit one and brought it to his mouth as he looked up at the view of the skyline, hoping it'd be better than what he could see in his room. As usual, the pollution from the city had suffocated his precious stars, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake. Dissatisfied, he huffed, blowing smoke into the air. Take  _that_ , environment of Los Santos. He always liked the countryview better anyway.

When his cigarette was reduced to a little more than a stub, he flicked it off the balcony and turned to head inside. Upon entering, he was in time to observe Dipper thrashing on the couch, and with a pinch of curiosity, he carefully approached the kid. Was he having nightmares again? Bill thought he was over that phase.

"Pine Tree," he whispered as shook his shoulder. "Wake up."

A strangled noise turned into a gasp as his eyelids fluttered open to reveal bright eyes, visibly frightened. And interestingly, he could watch the seconds in which it dripped away after Dipper caught sight of him, leaving the kid in a state of embarrassment. "Hi," Dipper greeted, voice still hoarse from sleep.

"Hey," Bill returned the greeting, "get up, doll. We're sleeping together." Whether Dipper liked it or not, because Bill wanted to make sure the kid got some sleep. Besides, maybe it'd help Bill too… he'd managed to achieve better rest when they'd passed out in the car the other day, a true rarity.

Dipper held Bill's stare, a protest probably on the tip of that sharp tongue if he knew the kid (which he did), but he seemed to swallow it down. "I'm guessing you mean that in the non-Bill Cipher way." Bill smirked at that, and enjoyed the display as Dipper stretched those little noodly muscles through a yawn.

"That remains to be seen, cutie. You'll give into your desires for me soon enough, and then we'll do more than just sleep together."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dipper flatly replied, "So basically we'll sleep together."

"That's the spirit, sugar. Get ready to strip."

"I'm keeping my clothes on, thanks." Dipper was rising from the sofa, shuffling toward his bedroom as the classic sarcasm made a return, "How did you know I've always wanted Lin-Manuel Miranda's paper doppelganger to stare at me as I slept?"

Who wouldn't? That man was dreamy. No homo. "Would you rather it be Leslie Odom Jr., doll? He'll probably  _shoot_  you quite the glare." Considering Aaron Burr had  _shot_ Hamilton… it was funny!

Dipper sighed loudly at his attempt at a reference and disappeared inside the room with an exasperated, "I'm too tired for this." Why wasn't he laughing? Bill thought it was hilarious.

By the time he followed in after him, Dipper had his starry sheets pulled back and appeared as puzzled as ever. "Why is there a line in your bed?"

Bill shrugged. "That's so the hookers or one night stands don't go on my side of the bed." He liked his spot untainted by whores, and the yellow line of tape that sectioned the bed did wonders. Even better, he had the majority of the bed to himself– visitors had the very edge. "Get on your side, cutie." He moved to settle down on his side, splaying out.

Even in a room illuminated only by the dim moonlight coming from above them, he could see Dipper's frown. The kid didn't move an inch from where he stood. "Wait, am I being banished to the hooker side of the bed?"

"Well, if you put it like that… yes." Bill didn't understand what the issue was. That was the designated 'not Bill' zone.

"No way," he snorted, arms folding stubbornly. "That's gross, and I'm not a hooker." With purpose, Dipper walked to his side of the bed, Bill looking up at him as he made a motion with his hand. "Roll over, I'm sleeping here."

Bill didn't budge. "This is my spot." Not his.

" _Our_ spot," he corrected snarkily. "Thought you were a communist."

"Don't make me pull a Stalin and kill you."

Dipper's eyebrows raised, meanwhile Bill's eye twitched with impatience. "Fine, come here." He caved into his demands, scooting to provide room for Dipper, who eventually conceded after another yawn perhaps reminded him how sleepy he was.

With Dipper settled in, he wrapped his arms around him, drawing him close. A while ago, he'd been hoping for an opportunity to spoon the kid; now it was happening, and he swore to the stars it was everything he'd been wanting, the way their bodies pressed together like the perfect match they were. His hand brushed over the silky fabric of Dipper's pajamas in small circles, unintentionally slipping into the soothing motion. "Get some rest, okay Pine Tree?"

"Okay," Dipper agreed, and Bill wondered if he'd already closed his eyes since his voice sounded more drawn out than it had several moments ago. "...Hope you'll be able to rest too."

"We'll see," he hummed softly as he breathed in Dipper's scent. It was like a lotion bottle exploded on him, engulfing him in a sweet vanilla aroma. "Goodnight, cutie."

There was a response but it was barely audible, some jumbled attempt at a goodnight, but it was good enough for him.

* * *

Bill woke to the distant sound of excited chatter, blinking his eyes as he glanced around the bright room. Sunlight was beaming down on them, painting their bed in shades of gold and orange. His gaze fell on Dipper, who seemed to have slept better than he did on the couch, as he hadn't disturbed Bill with his movements.

Still, he didn't want to put an early end to the kid's rest, and he slowly detached himself to get out of bed. But he didn't seem to be as stealthy as he thought, since Dipper was beginning to stir and looked at him through exhausted eyes that couldn't stay open for more than three seconds at a time. "Bill..?"

"Hey sugar," his voice was a murmur. "Go back to sleep, okay?" The kid looked like a zombie in his current state. More rest would do him good, and it wasn't like they had any important plans on the table today as far as he knew– the kid could enjoy a couple extra hours of shut-eye.

His coaxing hadn't swayed him. "Where are you going?" Dipper asked, slightly more coherent as he sat up, propping himself on his elbows and the mound of star pillows. That was a good question.

He wasn't really sure himself, but if he had to guess? The living room. "Out," Bill responded, which appeared to alarm him until he added: "Probably going to join the others on the couch." He assumed that was where they'd be, given they didn't do much. "Like I said, sleep. You look like you need it."

A yawn betrayed Dipper, and he sunk back into the bed with a quiet "yeah." The kid was much more agreeable like this, it was nice. Thinking that was the last of their interaction, Bill began to leave again but was stopped by a rigid request to wait. He turned to Dipper and saw he was holding the ring, the one studded with rubies that'd been sitting on his nightstand ever since he'd given it back the night at the pier. "Would you mind if I…" Dipper paused, searching for words, "I don't know, put this on?"

"Why are you asking?" It baffled Bill that Dipper felt the need to ask for permission. "It's yours, cutie. Do what you'd like with it."

Dipper gave him a leveled stare. "Because I don't want to give it back again."

Well, Bill wasn't really planning on fucking up again, so that shouldn't be an issue. "You won't."

The kid seemed content with his answer and burrowed back into the bed like a cocooned caterpillar after he'd slipped on the ring. Bill didn't hang around long, departing from his room with the door gently closing behind him.

"Ah, Cipher," Ford greeted from the sofa, Stan and Mabel at his side. "Sit, the election is about to come on."

Bill's gaze swept across the room, landing on where the coffee table once sat, replaced with a new one that had a striking resemblance to the old. Picky bastards. The broken pieces had been cleaned up and the old table was gone, leaving the living space looking as elegant as ever.

His gaze flicked to Mabel as she began to speak, peering at him from over the back of the couch. "Where's Dipper?"

"He had nightmares last night and couldn't sleep, so he's resting. In my bed."

Although it looked like Ford was going to comment, the news of the election appeared on the television screen and snagged everybody's attention, including his own. He wondered what poor sap they managed to convince to take the job.

It was a woman he didn't recognize, but his impression of her soured when she spoke. 'Blah, blah, blah, I'm going to kill all those gang crooks, blah, blah, blah. Los Santos won't be a victim of gang activity anymore, blah.' He couldn't care less, it was all talk with no bite. She could insist on bringing the murderers of her predecessor to justice, but that didn't mean she would. Especially with some of the higher ups in gangs' pockets.

"Unbelievable," Ford muttered. "I hope the Ravagers realize their grave mistake. Whether or not the new mayor acts on her promises is irrelevant, but we could have operated in relative peace if not for their foolishness."

Stan's voice was a rumbly growl. " _We_  should take those sons of bitches down a notch for this. They've fucked everything up."

"Stanley, it's… infeasible, especially now." Ford motioned toward the television, the mayor continuing to share her "stance" on crime, but it was nothing more than an angry rant to garner the support of fearful Los Santos citizens.

Bill took particular interest in her statement on how she'd 'get Mason and Mabel back from the criminal masterminds that kidnapped them.' If that was what she was looking for, she'd never find the Owls or the Ravagers. It was amusing, how adamant she was to locate kids that an entire city had nearly forgotten about or presumed dead after a week into their disappearances.

Beside them, Mabel squeaked in excitement. "Look, it's Pacifica's dad!"

His eyes flicked to the television, seeing another announcement being made. Ah, yes. Preston Northwest, the Chief of the Los Santos Police. A  _dear_  friend of Bill's.

Stan coughed. "What? Ah, sweetie, maybe ya shouldn't see Pacifica anymore."

Oh, this would be interesting. Bill plopped himself on the armrest of the sofa, relaxing into the cushions to watch this go down.

Mabel bristled. "No! We only have less than two weeks left, right? I want to make the most of it with her."

Less than two weeks left? Bill recalled the arrangement he'd made with Dipper at the cemetery; while he didn't know if Mabel and Dipper had discussed it further afterward, it seemed clear she believed they would be leaving. No, they wouldn't be. Dipper wouldn't be. He was Bill's, and Bill's alone, and if he tried to leave Bill would fucking tie him up and take him to his house in the countryside.

If Dipper would let him, anyway. He couldn't escape the middle of nowhere.

Stan seemed hesitant, like he wasn't sure how to respond to Mabel. So Bill jumped in, taking advantage of the opportunity. "That wouldn't be a good idea," he said in reference to the siblings leaving in a couple weeks. "The mayor's focused on hunting you two down. It's not safe to leave while her attention's on you."

"I suppose," Ford considered, then turned to Stan. "Another month would allow the media to settle, and… give them adequate time to decide."

"Well… I… okay," Stan relented. "Another month, four weeks. But as a reminder, if one of you doesn't want to join us by the end, neither of you will be." Bill smirked. He'd make sure both of them joined. "I just hope hanging around Pacifica and Preston won't fuck us."

For a change, Mabel's expression seemed serious. "He doesn't care about Pacifica and hardly knows either of us exist. He's a bit of a jerk to her… but you don't have to worry about it!"

"And you don't need to worry about telling Dipper about how he's staying longer," Bill added. "I'll handle that." He now had an extra four weeks to convince him to join without a shadow of a doubt. Easy.

There was a knowing exchange between Stan and Ford, a glance he noticed but didn't understand, his eyes narrowing at the sight. But then Ford turned to him and asked, "Would you step onto the balcony with me for a moment?"

"Afraid the giant owl from space will take you away if you go alone?" Bill challenged, a little frustrated he was out of the loop of that look.

Ford didn't seem pleased. "No. If I was, I would bring Stanley with to ensure my protection. He's... heftier."

"That's called 'fat.' He should stop eating so much, he's becoming a whale."

Stan glowered at him. "What was that?"

"I said you're as fat and lazy as a panda." Apparently deaf as well, how shocking.

"Quit this at once," Ford gave an annoyed huff. "We  _just_ replaced the coffee table after your last disagreement."

Bill scoffed but didn't press the issue despite the dark look he was receiving from Stan. "So, the balcony?" he inquired to Ford. "Need a third party opinion on redesigning that piece of shit?"

Ignoring him, Ford led the way to the sliding doors, and they stepped into the heat of the day only to be greeted with a warm blast of air. He already missed the air-conditioning and hoped Ford would make this quick, whatever they were doing out here.

Bill didn't have to wonder for long, because Ford skipped the pretenses by plainly stating, "It's about Dipper. Stanley and I are… concerned," he lightly paused, adjusting his glasses, "about your relationship with him."

Bill laughed. "Jealous I'm getting more action than you?"

"This is  _exactly_ why we're worried!" A long sigh escaped him as he appeared to recompose himself, taking on his holier-than-thou, logical tone, "Over two weeks ago, you were warned to stay away from them. Since that certainly didn't happen," Ford took the opportunity to give him a hardened stare, "the next best course of action is to gradually distance yourself."

"No." Bill wasn't going to stop what he was doing just because Mama Hen and Big Daddy had an issue with it. "I'm  _not_  going to stay away from that kid."

Naturally, that wasn't the answer Ford had been hoping for. "I imagine we won't see eye-to-eye on this dilemma, but elaborate. Help me understand why you refuse to stay away while aware he may very well choose to leave when given the chance."

Why the fuck did he have to elaborate? He wasn't the one going around demanding Ford stay away from others. "If he leaves, that's his damn choice. We're not exclusive, we're not dating."

"Does he know that?" Ford asked dryly.

"He really insisted on the 'not actually dating' part."

"Alright, Cipher, I'll approach this differently: what  _are_ you two doing? Stanley has suspicions that you are engaging in intimate activities with Dipper, and quite frankly, I had my doubts but am beginning to see his point. You've had him in your bedroom multiple times now."

Bill shrugged. "We make out, we touch. Mutually benefiting each other, y'know Brainiac?"

His jaw set tightly. "Do  _not_ allow your physical relationship to escalate. I would assume you have the common sense to comprehend why that's not only irresponsible, but a terrible idea."

"What if it already has?" Bill's tone was light. He didn't care if it was a terrible idea or not, he just wanted to ruffle Ford's feathers. "You have no idea what goes on in my bedroom, Hen."

Ford appeared to think for several moments before speaking again. "His gait is… rather innocent."

Bill laughed, remembering when he'd told Dipper the same. "You mean he walks like a virgin? I agree, I should fix that."

" _No_ ," he snapped, "I've already made myself clear. You aren't to touch him unless he states he would like to remain with us because I presume this is a stressful decision as is. Do not complicate matters for the poor boy."

Bill could hardly contain a snicker. "Sleep with him, got it." Ford seemed to be set on believing their relationship  _could_  go further. It was pretty obvious he hadn't been around Dipper much– the kid's legs were held tighter together than Gorilla Glue.

"He's too young for you," Ford insisted, voice tense. Bill didn't buy it, assuming Ford was simply biased since anything over a day was probably too much of an age gap for him. "He's been sheltered his entire life, and an overwhelmingly horrible tragedy has befallen his family. How do you fail to see the issue here?"

"He's legal," Bill reminded him. "And he meets your stupid equation criteria. Shall I walk you through it? I'm twenty-five, and he's nineteen. Divide twenty-five by two, you get twelve and a half. Add seven to that. You get nineteen and a half, and oh look, Pine Tree's almost twenty. I know you're shitty with your algorithms, but it's not  _that_  fucking hard."

By the time he was finished, Ford seemed to be seething, perhaps because he felt his precious intelligence had been insulted.. Which must've been a huge blow to him, considering that was all he had. "Precisely as I'd expected this would go," Ford said agitatedly, starting to move away from him to return inside. "I suggest keeping our conversation in mind."

He wasn't going to do that. Hell, he was already making a point of  _forgetting_  this discussion happened. He didn't need 'relationship advice.'

Following Ford back inside, he glanced at the TV to see the mayor was still speaking. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" he asked, looking at Stan and Mabel.

"She's just been bitchin' about gangs this entire time. Nothin' important." Stan was slowly moving to get off the couch. "Ford and I were gonna go scout out a good getaway car spot this afternoon, you wanna come?"

Mabel jumped up. "I do!"

"Ah, sweetie–"

"I'm going!" She was unrelenting, bouncing off the couch to get ready to leave and listing reasons on her fingers of why they  _needed_ her to come with. Her determination seemed to crush any objections Stan had.

They'd all packed into one of Stan's vehicles and drove through downtown Los Santos, every now and then making a stop to examine a particular spot before moving on, doing a couple rounds around the city to avoid raising suspicion.

Overall, it was boring, and Bill wasn't sure why Mabel had been so insistent on coming. There was nothing to do but examine alleyways, and he found himself longing to go back to bed with Dipper. It'd be much more pleasant than being stuck in the back of the vehicle like some  _criminal_. To make the situation worse, Mabel wouldn't stop squirming and  _poking_  him, telling him to look at stupid shit or chattering on about something that happened recently. He didn't care. He wanted to be in the driver's seat. Bill hated not being in control. If he was, Hen wouldn't be in the passenger seat either.

He had just sank against the door when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Curious, he pulled it out and checked the caller ID. Pine Tree? The kid should've been sleeping still, but Bill didn't hesitate to answer it. "Hi, dear." He could've called him cutie, or sugar, but he wanted to change things up around the others in the car. It'd be too easy to do something he used commonly, and he wanted to leave them guessing, let them wonder who was calling.

The term of endearment had caught Ford's attention, and he could see that nerd looking at him through the rear view mirror, his gaze questioning. A hint of a satisfied smile touched Bill's lips, knowing it was quite uncharacteristic of him to show affection so he understood Ford's curiosity, and he wanted to play with it.

"Where are you?" The voice on the other side of the line sounded raspy and strained, as if Dipper was trying to catch his breath. Through a whine, he added, " _Everyone's gone_. I tried calling Mabel but she left her phone here, and nobody woke me to tell me you were leaving or where you were going and..."

As Dipper rambled in a shaky, run-on sentence, he stopped him by answering, "Around town to scout something out. You doing okay, sweetheart? You sound like your throat got crushed by Red's dad."

"I guess, maybe," he replied, rather pitifully if Bill was the judge. "It's not a big deal. Just the nightmares again and," there was a pause, and he heard a shuddering inhale, "...and then I tried to find you but nobody was around."

Hm, those nightmares were becoming annoying. Maybe some SSRIs would do the kid wonders, he knew where he could hook some. "We'll be back soon, okay? Relax, dear."

That seemed to be the clue Ford needed to piece the situation together, and the disapproving frown and glare he received… it was well worth it.

Mabel didn't seem to be paying attention, still pointing out the various sights of the city to Stan, but he was also becoming increasingly interested in the call.

Another series of coughs and gasps drew his attention back to the phone. "It's...  _hard_!" came the protest. "It's different when you guys are here, but—" Dipper cut off abruptly, wheezing. Once he'd gotten his breathing under control, at least temporarily, he asked, "When are you going to be back?"

"Within the hour," he answered, although he didn't really know. It was hard to tell with these clowns driving. "Just try to take it easy, alright?"

"I'm not even sure what that means, coming from you." How  _didn't_  he? It seemed he actually was as clueless as he claimed since Bill could make out shuffling on the other side of the line, deducing that the kid had started pacing.

"Relax," Bill clarified. "Don't stress yourself out, go back to being in a cozy cocoon."

"I don't think that's going to help me." More sadly, Dipper continued, "Please just.. be back soon."

"I will be." He'd make sure of it, whether Stan and Ford liked it or not. "Anything else, honey?"

There was a long pause, but he finally said, "Cuddles."

Hell yes. "Of course. I gotta go. Love ya, darlin'." He didn't miss the look Stan and Ford gave him, and he grinned.

"What—?" Before Dipper could go on, Bill ended the call.

A silence enveloped the car for several seconds as the brothers  _stared_ at him, Ford more so than Stan since he wasn't preoccupied by driving, while a mixture of annoyance and confusion was clear in their expressions. "Who was that." It was a stony question, asked by Ford. As if he didn't already know the answer to it.

"Someone who's far more attractive than you are, Six Fingers."

Ford hardly reacted to the jab, but snapped, "Are you harassing that boy again?"

Bill had to scoff at that. "He called  _me_ , and besides, it's not harassment if he likes it."

"Not dating, my ass," he could hear Stan mutter from the front. "'Love ya?' What bullshit is that, Triangle?"

Triangle? It'd been a while since anyone used that shitty heist codename. There was a reason it'd been retired: he liked stars much more, and the lack of media attention on  _him_ had been a problem. That Triangle fellow always got the heat. It had left life as Bill Cipher lacking.

Ford made a noise of agreement. "An endearment such as 'love ya' and your tendency to refer to him as 'dear' or 'sweetheart', implies more than a friendly arrangement."

Suddenly tuning into the discussion, Mabel squealed in delight. "Are you two together yet? Dipper talks about you, like, all the time!"

Well obviously, he was amazing. Who wouldn't talk about him? But even so, Bill waved the spectators away to reply to Ford, "Get used to it. I'm not backing off as long as the kid doesn't mind." And if they tried to talk Dipper into disliking it, well… they didn't  _need_  to live.

Although neither of the brothers seemed satisfied with his explanation, they had the sense to convey it only through the occasional displeased grimace as they finished assessing the possible places to park a getaway car, then drove back to the penthouse. Moving to exit the vehicle with the others, Ford said, "Hold on a moment, Cipher."

"Why?" Whenever Ford wanted him to wait nowadays, it usually meant he was going to nag him. Bill was getting a bit tired of it.

"I merely wanted to inquire…" he pinched the bridge of his nose, "about your fascination with Dipper. Is it because of his birthmark?"

A short laugh escaped him as he headed toward the building. "That's a bonus, Fordsy!"

Once upstairs, he passed Stan and Mabel getting comfortable on the couch. They were wolfing down ice cream to a rerun of  _Duck-tective_ and with disinterest, he went into his room to shed his coat, setting his gun on the dresser then hanging his jacket in the closet. Couldn't have it getting wrinkles.

Turning from the closet, he admired the cocoon Dipper made of himself. Somehow he'd managed to stay mostly wrapped in the blankets as he sat drawing in the sketchbook. Putting aside his complaints about nightmares, he seemed cozy and warm in bed, and Bill yearned to join him. "Hey cutie," he greeted as he approached. "How're you doing?"

"Hi jackass," was the snappish reply from the bundle of blankets, and they shuffled and churned until Dipper fully emerged, his hair a mess. He set aside the drawing supplies to say, "When I took the ring back earlier, I hope you didn't perceive that as a declaration of my love for you. Which isn't real, by the way."

"What're you talkin' about, cutie?" Bill inquired. "Is this about the call..? I only told you I loved you because I thought it'd fuck with Fez and ol' Six Fingers. It worked." He moved to join Dipper in bed, wrapping his arms around him and pulling the kid closer.

"Seriously, didn't we have a conversation about how I don't want people to think we're dating?" In spite of his displeased tone, Dipper was already shifting to curl into him, nestling into his shoulder. He went on to murmur teasingly, "Mostly because I could do so much better than you."

Oh, please. Dipper couldn't do better, not when Bill was the best. "You could try," he hummed as Dipper nuzzled in. "That doesn't mean you'll get anyone else, 'cause they don't exist, sugar."

"You act like being completely alone would be a step down."

"Being with or without anyone but me is a loss, doll. I'm the best thing to happen to this world."

A lazy grin on his face, Dipper propped himself on his elbows to gaze at him, mere inches between the two. His fingers were floating over his shirt, lightly tracing along the suspenders, before settling dangerously close to his bowtie. He better not touch it. "Mm, I believe I can safely say you haven't improved my life in any way," he mused.

Bill rumbled softly. "How squeaky you get when I kiss you says otherwise."

"And maybe if you were good I'd moan."

"Do you want to have access to my bed or not?"

"Do you want to have access to my mouth or not?" Dipper parroted, raising an eyebrow.

"Out."

He laughed a little but stubbornly said, "Nope."

How annoying. "Would you like me to throw you out? I'm sure you can recall what happened last time I had to forcibly remove you." He'd gotten 'hurt.' Bill was confident he'd been faking.

"Oh, right," he replied, appearing to think. "You threw me out of your car, then stalked me for two blocks, and eventually came out to threaten me with rope."

"I'll tie a rope around your feet and drag your noodly ass out of here."

"You'd go through the trouble of tying me, then would  _remove_ me from your bedroom?" He looked skeptical but simultaneously a beat away from bursting into giggles.

Bill dismissively said, "It wouldn't be the right rope. If I fucked you with  _that_  kind of rope, it'd just make your little wrists raw."

"What if I like it rough?" he challenged, a single digit smoothing over his bowtie.

"Then I'll rip your clothes off, tie you up, then fuck you dry." Was that rough enough for him? "Then I'll bite off that finger of yours."

" _Ooh_ , Bill. You make me so hot," Dipper deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

Did he not think he was serious about the finger? Bill had already warned him in the past about touching his bowtie. "I'd hate to see you all hot and bothered when your finger's pumping out blood."

"Is this really irritating you that much?" Dipper asked, the finger on his bowtie pressing down for a second. After being met with a scowl, he sighed exasperatedly, "Relax, man. I'll move it." And he curled his fingers into his balled fist, thankfully away from the bowtie. Good. Another second of his bowtie being tainted, he would've bit the kid. "But just so you know, I'd never be so  _savage_  as to bite your finger."

"Your teeth are about as fearsome as a toothless granny, cutie. You can gum my finger all ya want."

Dipper flicked his cheek. "I'd show your finger a good time."

Bill blew on his face, watching in amusement as the kid's features scrunched. "Just practice for when my cock's in your mouth." More seriously, Bill opted to move on from that discussion because as much as he loved being sexual with Pine Tree, he knew he wouldn't be getting a blowjob out of today's conversation. "So, cutie. I have some news about when Stan's letting you leave."

"Okay…"

"It's being moved back. The new mayor's a piece of work. She's trying to hunt you down– obsessed with finding you and Mabel, and Stan doesn't want you two out in the wild until she chills the fuck out."

Dipper appeared to be mildly apprehensive by the news but nodded after he'd processed it. "Why is she after us?" he questioned. "I thought we were basically dead to this city."

He'd thought so too, and all he could do was shrug. "She's determined to track down you two and get you back from the 'criminal scum' that 'kidnapped' you. The issue with it is once you're outed, gangs like the Ravagers who want you dead can find you easily."

"Oh." It was a little breathless as Dipper nuzzled back into him, seemingly in search of protection. Bill had just been trying to relay the state of affairs to him, he hadn't meant to scare the kid. "So.. what's the new date?"

"It's another month, at least. Roughly five weeks, give or take."

"Alright." Bill couldn't tell if it was relief or worry in his voice, but he went on before he could think about it for very long. "You're not actually going to kick me out of your bed, are you?"

He softly laughed at that. "Nah, cutie. You're welcomed to use it as you wish. I like sleeping with you."

"Good, because… it was nice? I slept pretty well." Dipper gave a slight laugh of his own. "At least while you were here, I mean. It kind of sucked, waking up from a nightmare with nobody around the penthouse."

"I bet." Although it'd been unfortunate that he had to leave, it was always good to get the lay of the area they were going to be robbing. "Are you doing better?"

Dipper gave a hum, nosing the underside of his jaw and inhaling gently. "Yeah, thanks."

Bill chuckled. "Good. Like what you smell, doll?" He didn't miss how Dipper had smelled him, and in return he breathed in Dipper's scent. Yup, still like a vanilla bean exploded onto him.

"Maybe," he mumbled but didn't move away, "when you don't smell like cigarette smoke, anyway."

"It's part of my charm," he objected. Cigarette smoke was great. He hardly noticed it!

Dipper snorted and said sarcastically, "You're right, cancer is undeniably sexy. Blackened lungs get my heart racing."

That was worthy of a smirk. "Glad we're on the same page." Not seriously, but Bill didn't care about his lungs or cancer. He was sure he wouldn't live long enough to see it.

In response to his comment, he heard a peeved mutter of his name and a moment later, Dipper was shifting to rest on top of him, straddling his waist. "Don't be a dick about this. There are better ways to relieve stress."

"Well, you're not putting out." He could get sex from somewhere else, but smoking was far more convenient. "Unless you're planning on riding me right now?"

Mischief glinted in his eyes, and Dipper's hips gave an experimental nudge against his own. "I thought you had plenty of hooker friends you'd rather sleep with?"

Bill bucked back without hesitation, briefly wondering how far Dipper would go. "It's easier to have a twink that lives with me."

Now graced with a dusting of red across his cheeks, Dipper laughed a bit nervously, "A twink you can't even get a moan out of with your kissing."

"I can fix that," he offered lowly as he bucked again, grinding into Dipper while his hands drifted to his hips, thumbs circling the jutting bones in encouragement. "I'll make you moan so loud the others can hear you." And oh, he absolutely reveled in the way Dipper's pupils dilated— he knew that look.  _Want_. Bill pulled Dipper into a kiss, light at first, but he deepened it with his tongue slipping into his mouth.

The pliant gasp of surprise was quickly silenced as Dipper fell into their usual rhythm and began to hungrily reciprocate the kiss, his hands ghosting over Bill's chest and shoulders, fingers digging into the clothing.

The lack of pleased noises was frustrating. Bill knew he was holding back, being stubborn about this, but he  _would_ make his Pine Tree moan. He continued to grind against him and tried to guide Dipper to do the same, the friction between them increasing, becoming more desperate as their kisses turned sloppy.

But he paused upon feeling how Dipper uncomfortably shifted above him, breaking the kiss.

He looked incredibly adorable with how red he was, blushing and panting. It'd be easy to pin him, to make him  _his_ … "Can you just imagine how much better this would feel if I was inside you?" Bill breathed, gazing at him while his hand suggestively trailed across Dipper's inner thigh.

His wonderfully-widened pupils morphed into panicked dots, and he scrambled back completely to sit on the bed sheets, letting them pool in his lap. He gave an embarrassed cough, averting his eyes. "I, uh— I don't think that's a good idea."

"If you say so," Bill murmured, though he didn't agree. He'd seen the fear in his eyes and didn't want to push their relationship further than he had. "Do you want to join Stan and Mabel? They're watching Dumbtective."

" _Duck-tective_  isn't a bad show," Dipper protested with a small chuckle, anxiously running a hand through his hair. "But yeah, we… probably should." The kid moved from the bed, picking up a set of folded clothes, undoubtedly his since it was a plaid shirt and jeans, from the top of the dresser. Dipper spared him a questioning look and asked, "Aren't you going to go watch?"

Yes, he was going to watch Dipper dress. He made it so easy when he was already in his PJs, now he  _had_  to strip in front of him. Hot.

He was dragged from his fantasy by a prompting, "Bill?"

"Undress, cutie. I'll watch you real good."

Dipper squeaked at that. "When I asked if you were going to watch, I meant  _Duck-tective_."

"That too…" Not immediately, but soon. At this rate, he needed to take care of something first.

"So you really want me to undress in front of you," Dipper clarified, an eyebrow raised. "You have a connected bathroom," he motioned to the doorway, "I could just use that." Something between skepticism and amusement rested in his tone, but he didn't move from where he stood in front of the mirror — perfect, another angle to watch from.

He needed to talk less and undress more. "Strip."

Brief contemplation followed, but he said, "Better be extra nice to me today." Dipper ended the sentence with a shrug, then began to undo the buttons of his pine tree-print pajamas, starting at the top of his shirt and moving down. Bill watched in interest as more skin was exposed to him, nearly drooling as the fabric dropped from his shoulders, and soon he was shedding the garment off his lithe frame entirely.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of hair. "You shave?"

"Oh..." Dipper grinned sheepishly. "No, I don't grow enough body hair to bother."

"I guess Mabel must've gotten that gene."

The grin was instantly replaced by a look of annoyance. "Do you want me to continue or not."

Why yes, yes he would. He'd conquer that smooth skin soon enough. "Please."

After holding his gaze for a moment longer, Dipper finished undressing by shimmying out of the pajama bottoms, leaving nothing but his underwear remaining. Now if only that would come off... At last, the part he didn't care for followed: the redressing, which he was significantly less interested in as Pine Tree threw on the classic plaid shirt and jeans.

Walking toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder, "You coming?"

Bill  _was_  going to come, but not in the way Dipper thought. "In a few minutes."

He blinked dumbly, hesitating. "Okay, why?"

"I'm going to spank the wank, cutie." Bill thought that was obvious considering they'd been getting hot and heavy, then Dipper essentially stripped for him.

"Uh… what?"

"You know, shaking hands with the milkman. Roughing up the suspect, and beating out a confession. Draining my dragon. Making the bald man cry."

"I don't know what any of that means?" Dipper looked around the room, confused. "There are no dragons or ...bald guys here."

Stars, he was cute but stupidly innocent sometimes. "I'm going to jack it to the thought of your cute little ass, Pine Tree."

"Oh." The resulting blush was magnificent, and he seemed to have no idea what to do or say.

So Bill continued, "And I'm starting in ten seconds whether you're here or not." As if to demonstrate his point, he made a show of undoing the hook of his slacks, and then reaching for his boxers.

Momentarily alarmed, Dipper turned back to the door. "Okay, okay! I'm going!" he called, beginning to scamper from the room.

Bill softly chuckled. "Shake your ass on the way out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to all who have stuck with us so far! See you on Wednesday.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shoutout and thanks to Acewolf, Piqued Penguin, and LumianaKatenke - this chapter's for you all since we're awful and didn't have time to do comment replies before this update (but we _will_ get to responding.)
> 
> Warning(s): more sexual situations, non-con moments (nothing actually happens, but it could still be triggering, so just in case), derogatory name calling.

Stars, every time they decided to have heist meetings, Bill wanted to shoot himself to end his boredom. They were going to be hitting Fort Zancudo, for files or some stupid shit, then delivering them to Rico. He could think of something  _much_  better to do when infiltrating a military base, like raid their armory and steal some tanks.

Instead, they had to be tortured by the boring mission plan of breaking, entering, and getting out. They weren't even planning on causing a shootout, they just wanted lookouts to decrease their chance of getting caught. Bill hated it.

"Alright," Stan's voice broke him from his thoughts. "Are we good on that? This is time sensitive, we need everyone we can get for lookout duty and we can't afford fuck ups."

Dipper's voice cut in with a cautious, "I could help…?" Thank fuck the kid finally said something, he'd been getting tired of seeing his sad puppy eyes watch with jealousy from afar as the rest of the crew got the rundown. It was a good thing Shooting Star was out with her girlfriend and a couple friends or she would've been yapping away during the meeting, desperate to be involved.

Stan shook his head. "Sorry kid, can't risk ya getting hurt. This is high-stakes, one hangup and we become pincushions for bullets."

The morbid phrasing and Stan's rejection had placed the slightest of frowns on Dipper's face and while disappointed, he seemed to be ready to accept that he couldn't come with.

Wendy chimed in encouragingly, "Hey, don't worry about it. There's always next time."

He fucking hated Red. "Ah yes, next time. Another rejection from Stan, considering our next heist will probably be a week from now." He could see the kid scowling but Dipper wouldn't be joining them in that time, he  _knew_  the indecisive kid wouldn't.

"I wouldn't mind having those two dudes along!" Soos said, laughing a little.

"Yeah, they could be helpful," Wendy shrugged. "Relax, you don't need to be so negative about it."

"Bill Cipher, being a total dick about something?" Dipper rolled his eyes. "That's not really a surprise to anyone."

Soos laughed again, grinning at Bill. "He's gotcha there, dude!"

He shot Soos a murderous glare. If Stan wasn't standing there, he would've pulled his gun on him and  _ended him_ where he stood. "I'm being honest, fuckheads. Do you actually think Stan'll jump to the kids joining in on a heist when they're supposed to be laying low?"

"Children," Stan grumbled. "Let's not argue about this. Dipper, you won't be joinin' in on this heist." That same flicker of discontent crossed with defiance was written on the kid's face, but he seemed resigned to his fate as he turned his attention back to the television. "Wendy, Soos— I want ya to do recon around the base. Don't bring attention to yourself though, got it? We don't need the military's security being upped 'cause they saw ya creeping around."

Soos saluted him. "Sure thing, Mr. Stan, sir! Soos, awaaay!"

"Catch ya later," Wendy said to the rest, giving a wave as she trailed after Soos out of the penthouse. Good riddance, he was tired of them and their optimism.

The noise of the sliding doors alerted him to Ford's presence. He'd been on the balcony for at least the past fifteen minutes, on the phone with his nerd buddy. "McGucket is requesting I bring a copy of the blueprints to him," Ford reported to Stan, pocketing his phone. "We'll be going over it together this evening so he fully understands which security systems to disable during the heist."

He always found it interesting how they kept in contact with Fiddleford McGucket. He was a previous member of the Owls, the hacker that was able to evade having a criminal record because he was never public. His involvement didn't last long; he dropped them to pursue a career as a surgeon, though he still provided some services if asked. A talented guy, but sometimes wacky as all hell.

Stan looked at Ford with hopeful eyes. "Ya need me, right? If you're leavin'?" Bill immediately realized what was happening: this was a pathetic display of Stan wanting to be with Ford. Not only that, but wanting to be  _needed_ by Ford.

Ford was gathering his belongings into a small pack, carefully rolling a copy of the blueprints and tucking them away. "I appreciate your offer, but do remember this is Fiddleford and I— we are perfectly capable of handling it," Ford responded, likely not intending to sound both aloof and pretentious. It was just the way his owl obsessed-brain was wired, probably.

The crestfallen expression on Stan's face was almost sad, but it solidified how pathetic he was being. "Ah… okay. I'll see ya later?" And Ford gave a simple nod before leaving, the number of people in the penthouse dropping to three. "Bill," Stan was now speaking to him. "Ya wanna come with me to the bar? I wanna get  _fucked up_."

Damn, getting shot down by Ford must've hit him hard, but Bill shook his head. With his luck, the Ravagers would be pestering him tonight and he didn't want to be drunk while on the call. It didn't make him any less tempted to take up the offer. "Nah, I'm good." Once the Ravagers were dealt with, he'd probably hit Stan's 'secret' stash.

A second rejection seemed to annoy Stan, but he shrugged it off with a gruff "suit yourself" as he grabbed a set of keys and departed.

"Wait, he's going to get a cab for the ride back, right?" Dipper asked. He must have been listening in on this, less entranced by the television than he'd appeared to be.

Bill chuckled. "He'll be fine driving home, he does this all the time, cutie."

Dipper didn't look satisfied by that answer and muttered something under his breath about the dangers of drunk driving and how he didn't want Stan to get hurt. Christ, why did they have to pick up some goody two shoes? Sometimes, he preferred Shooting Star — she didn't have a stick up her ass. "Why didn't you go with him? It's not like you to pass up a chance at knocking a couple years from your lifespan."

"I have something I have to do before a drink can be graced by my lips." A phone call or two, and then he could indulge himself.

Looking around as if to ensure everyone else had gone, he skeptically raised an eyebrow. "Like grace your lips with my lips?"

That too. Maybe they could get some of that in before Robbie or Gideon annoyed the hell out of him. "Do you want to grace  _your_  lips with mine? 'Cause doll, I'd be into that."

"Hah, no." Dipper gave the smallest of smirks, falling against the cushions of the sofa to look up at him. "That's not what I said."

Guess they weren't kissing them, what a shame. Dipper should be  _honored_  Bill even let the kid look at him.

"First you claim my butt is inadequate, now you don't think my kissing is good enough," he listed off. "I don't know why we're even friends with benefits when I could find someone who truly appreciates me. Do you know if Wendy's available?"

That hit a sore spot. Bill lunged and pinned him as Dipper let out a squeal of surprise, though he sounded far from upset. "Not in your shitty ass dreams, kid!" He wasn't allowed to have  _wildest_  dreams. Although Bill knew he was just being a cheeky little fucker, it still pissed him off that he'd bring up Red, as if she could replace him.

Appearing amused, Dipper laid passively beneath him, not even putting up a struggle. "You're saying I don't have a shot at upgrading to Wendy?"

"That's a  _downgrade_ , sugar. She'll just cheat on you with someone else like the whore she is." His hands were holding down Dipper's arms over his head, gazing at him.

" _You're_  probably cheating on me with a third of the city's population."

Heh, he wished. Bill was moderately loyal to his heterosexual life partner in that he hadn't been with anyone else, but he wouldn't be opposed to it. "Would you like me to? I could kick you out of my room and fuck a few ladies instead. At the same time."

Dipper's grin wavered for a hint of a second, but he shrugged. "Look, we're just fooling around. I don't really care if you have other lady friends." He pinkened at his mistake. "..Just lady friends, no 'other.'"

"Always knew you were a lady," Bill responded with amusement at his error. "You even admitted it, doll."

Dipper made a noise of protest, beginning to squirm beneath him. "I'm not a lady! And besides, Mabel says my feminine qualities are  _charming_ and make me relatable to women."

He snickered at that. "Let's not forget your sister is more manly than you are, Pine Tree. She's probably found herself charmed by your  _girliness_."

"Is… is that a good thing?" Dipper asked, looking too confused to be offended.

"Ask Stan, he's the expert at incest."

"It's not incest," he replied with a stern flatness, instantly irritated. "Mabel and I are close, okay? Especially now, with all this happening." Dipper went on, "You don't have a twin, so you don't know how awkward it is when you're having a good time somewhere and then somebody comments on  _what a cute couple_ you are. ...Do you remember when that happened to you and I?"

Bill burst into laughter. "My stars, do I!" He couldn't care less about the majority of his whining, he was too focused on the last part. "That old woman looked like she wanted to take a picture of us."

"We must look pretty great together," he mused, "since everyone thinks we're dating, including total strangers."

"Must be all the  _gay_  radiating off you."

"Well, we can't all be perfectly straight, good Christian boys like you."

At that, he scoffed. "I  _am_  a good Christian boy. You should convert, maybe if you accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior you'd appreciate how  _amazing_  I am."

Dipper didn't seem amused. "This just sounds like another thinly-veiled 'become Mrs. Cipher' speech, but this time, you're starting it by trying to convert me."

"One of these days it'll work, cutie. Just you wait." He'd break Dipper's resolve down over time.

"The converting or… marriage? I swear to god if you say 'yes', I'm going to join Stan at the bar."

It was… incredibly difficult to not say 'yes' in response to that. "Both." There, it was… close enough. Not as satisfying, unfortunately. "I didn't think you drank."

"You make me want to start," Dipper said rather snappishly, but his expression was still soft, relaxed. Although he was being pinned down and antagonized, he seemed to be doing alright, maybe even enjoying this.

"Come, cutie," Bill hummed. "We can have  _much_ more fun without alcohol in your system."

Looking at him through his lashes, Dipper's eyes were glittering with interest. "Oh?" he asked so very innocently, but Bill knew he was well aware of what he'd meant.

Bill leaned in, feeling a soft puff of air against his skin as he pressed their mouths together. The contact was initially gentle, and he waited until he felt a positive response before seeking more from the simple kiss, tongue swiping across Dipper's lips to make his intentions clear.

Dipper parted them to allow Bill access to his mouth, which he delved into with fervor while enjoying the small nudges and strokes of Dipper's tongue against his own. The kid was always so shy about this, but he seemed to gain confidence today as his motions became bolder, more enthusiastic.

"My hands," Dipper managed through a shaky exhale when they parted, trying to tug his arms from his grasp. "...Wanna feel you."

Bill wasn't planning on budging for him, instead moving in for another kiss. If the kid wanted free, he'd need to do a little more than just ask.

As they kissed, he could feel Dipper shifting underneath him, wriggling in a pitiful attempt to free himself, but it ceased after the lack of progress became apparent. And the reason why was just as obvious: Dipper was less muscular, lighter, and shorter— he wasn't going to win this from sheer force, yet he seemed to understand that as he deployed a new tactic, experimentally nipping at his lips and tongue.

It was fine at first, until Dipper began to add more force behind the nips, essentially biting him at this point, and Bill withdrew with some frustration. He released his arms in the process, giving him the damn freedom he wanted, before he swooped back in. He captured Dipper's lips in a fiercer kiss, dominating his mouth with his tongue as he explored his warmth. It was rougher, but he wanted to remind him of who was in control.

And Dipper… Dipper fucking  _moaned_. Stars, that went straight to his dick. Seconds later, he felt his hands drag over his shoulders and down his back, the pressure of the digits increasing as the kiss continued like he was desperate to hang on to every last moment of pleasure.

Bill's lips dropped to his neck, sucking the skin as he peppered him in kisses. He wanted to go further but was thwarted by his fucking  _shirt_ , of all things. He sometimes hated his plaid army. Glancing up at Dipper, he noted how flushed he was, how he panted gently… Oh, how  _aroused_. Perhaps..

Perhaps he could get more out of this. "Doll," he murmured, "would you like to take this to the bedroom?"

"Yeah," Dipper breathed, sounding dazed. It was hardly a surprise when he  _looked_ dazed, his pupils blown and glazed over with desire.

"You know what that means, correct?" Bill peered at him. "Are you okay with having sex?"

" _Yes_ ," he said, equal parts impatient and desperate. There was a brief beat of hesitation before he added, "I… I think I would really like it if you'd fuck me."

Bill didn't wait once he had confirmation, rolling off him and picking him up bridal style. He started carrying Dipper into his room, setting him on his bed and crawling over. "I'm going to  _tear_  your clothes off you," he rumbled softly.

Bill hadn't known Dipper's eyes could get any bigger, but he looked positively stunned, entranced by this possibility. "Oh my god, Bill…" Dipper inhaled, parting his legs so he could settle between them, "please do. Just, ah, hurry— it's starting to hurt.." It hurt? Bill wasn't too sure what that meant, but it didn't matter when Dipper would be  _plunged full_  of pleasure soon. He made quick work of Dipper's shirt, pulling it from his body hard enough that several of the buttons popped out from the force.

"You… you're lucky that was hot," Dipper murmured, lifting his head to examine the damage, "but you still owe me a shirt."

"That can wait," Bill responded, turning his attention to Dipper's jeans. He could see his growing erection through the fabric as he unzipped his pants. "So excited already, sugar?" he teased, tempted to cop a feel but focusing on removing his own clothes, including his boxers.

Dipper began to huff at him, "Not a good time. I don't understand how you ever..." and he saw the moment his eyes scanned over him, the subtle hitch of his breath and the rise of heat to his cheeks. "Oh— uh, wow."

Bill chuckled as Dipper ate his words, positioning himself over him as he drew him into a kiss, the familiar sensation of digits deftly tracing over his chest and shoulder tattoos. It was no secret the kid had a thing for them when he'd asked to draw the designs before and repeatedly had been caught "subtly" staring when Bill undressed.

Maybe for the first time and quite unexpectedly, it was Dipper who removed the innocence from their kiss as he brushed his tongue along the seam of his lips. Surprised, Bill went along with it and pushed his tongue into his mouth, that alone enough to elicit an encouraging sound from Dipper.

Bill shifted, pressing himself down on Dipper as he began to grind against him, hearing the rustling of sheets as he squirmed to meet the touches halfway, pushing his hips up. He whined, and oh, stars— it sounded so  _needy_.

It made him want  _more_ , pushing down to grind harder against Dipper. He caught his lips in a brief kiss, then another, his hands drifting down to finger the edges of Dipper's jeans. He wanted to rip them off him, to  _take him_ and  _ruin him_  for anyone else. Nobody would take someone tainted by his touch, he'd make sure of that.

Temporarily, he slowed and eventually stopped the grinding in favor of shuffling Dipper's jeans off, looking over his near-naked form and suddenly met with the desire to truly  _feel_ him, to give the kid so much pleasure that he would be a flushed, begging mess. He moved to slip a hand into his boxers but stopped as Dipper caught his arm.

"Wait, ah," Dipper said, "maybe we should… should slow down."

What? He  _wanted this_ , his body had been  _begging for more_. "You said you wanted to have sex," Bill reminded him with some frustration. "We've  _been_  going slow."

"I do," Dipper insisted with a nod. "I just don't want to… jump into it, y'know? The kissing and grinding was pretty nice. We could do that for a bit, then keep going?"

"The grinding would feel better without any clothes between us," Bill informed him. He was beginning to dislike how Dipper seemed to be backing out of their agreement. "C'mon cutie, let me have a feel."

Dipper chided with a gentle laugh, "Don't be so impatient. I promise we can get to that in a second." And he used one hand to thumb a line over his jaw, angling his face and bringing him into a heated kiss again.

Bill wasn't feeling it, more into the idea of getting the remainder of Dipper's clothing off and fucking him into oblivion. He withdrew from the kiss, hands returning to pull on Dipper's boxers again. "It's been a second, cutie. Don't hold out on me, I want to give you an even  _better_  time."

Once again, his progression was stopped by Dipper, who seemed tenser than he had the first time. "Bill, come on. I don't want to rush through this, and it's not like we have a time limit."

The patience Bill was trying to exercise grew thin. "Let me take your fucking boxers off, sugar, before I fucking  _make_ them come off."

Dipper blinked at him, but he didn't release his grip. "Uh, what?"

"You heard what I said."

"Yes, and I'm giving you a chance to change it."

Instead of responding, Bill grabbed Dipper's wrists and pinned them with one hand while his other worked to forcibly remove his underwear. Dipper made an alarmed noise, and he drew a leg up to roughly knee him in the stomach with a startled cry of, "Dude, stop!"

Bill grunted softly in pain, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. "You said you wanted this, you fucking whore!"

"Well, I  _don't_ anymore," Dipper snapped, meeting his gaze, but there was something distantly fearful in his eyes. "Let me up."

A growl rumbled in Bill's throat, though he obliged to Dipper's wishes and started backing off. "Fine, you fucking slut." How could Dipper do this to him? Lead him on, make him think they're  _finally_  going to have sex, then chicken out? "I can't fucking believe you'd do this, after I've been  _so fucking patient_  with you."

Once Bill had moved from on top of him, Dipper defensively pulled his knees in front of his trembling body, giving Bill a cold stare but it didn't last, as he was already shuffling off the bed to redress, beginning with the jeans.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bill demanded. "You owe me a blowjob now."

"No? This may come as a shock to you, but I actually don't," Dipper replied bitterly, buttoning his shirt— or at least trying to, since some had broken off in his haste to remove the kid's clothing.

Oh, yes he fucking  _did_  for all the bullshit he put him through. "I know you don't understand how sex works, but if you fucking back out of it, you owe your partner a blowjob. Open that pretty slut mouth of yours, Pine Tree."

"Are you serious?" Dipper asked, and Bill simply stared because he was dead serious, this kid was going to blow him after the stunt he'd pulled. When it seemed Dipper got the message, he began to stroll out of his bedroom. "Go fuck yourself."

Bill got between him and the door, blocking the exit. "You're not going anywhere without sucking my dick, Mason." If Bill needed to, he could fucking force the kid to do it.

Dipper's jaw set tightly. "Get out of my way." It wasn't a request, it was a demand, but Bill heard it. He heard the second of hesitance, the little waver of the kid's confidence — it wasn't anxiety, he just was too stubborn to agree, trying to suppress his obvious desire.

"Get on your knees and fucking blow me."

The lack of compliance was infuriating when Dipper brushed past him, leaving the bedroom. Nearly shaking in fury, Bill watched him go, yelling after him: "Leave then, you shitty hooker! I bet Shooting Star would be happy to suck my cock instead!"

* * *

Although he was irritated the call came during his second hour of sulking, it was probably better than if it had interrupted his jacking off session. Sighing in annoyance, he glanced at the caller ID before he answered it and put the phone to his ear. Of fucking course it was Robbie, the epitome of a boner killer. He was glad he'd gotten his business done before this. "What do you want?"

"Assassination job," Robbie answered, somehow even making an exciting job sound boring. Watching Stan and Robbie pitch a heist together would be fun to witness, being polar opposites in that regard. "Did you see the election news? Pentagram thinks we can, like... take her down. Or some shit."

Even so, killing the new mayor  _did_  sound like fun. Dangerous with a higher payout. "When're you planning on doing this? I have another job lined up and I don't want them to conflict."

"Few days, uh... Friday. Gotta get some things together first, but then we'll be ready." There was that familiar sneer in Robbie's voice, and he couldn't get more grating if he tried.

"Ready to get killed by Thompson," he hummed with amusement. Really, they should consider removing him from the field with how much of a liability he was. "I'm in."

"Don't joke about that, man. It's not fucking funny."

"About as funny as you crying over Wendy leaving to join the Owls."

"Fucking can it, you ass!" Robbie got into one of his  _moods_ so easily, it was ridiculous. "So.. uh, the Owls… What are they up to?" There was an edge of nervousness to his voice, probably still under the impression the kids were a threat to him since he hadn't reported them dead yet. Mostly because they weren't.

Bill was still chuckling a little over Robbie's moods. How touchy he was. "The usual. Protecting some kids, planning a heist. Being more enjoyable company than you are."

And the whining went on, "What? Didn't I tell you to do something about them?"

"I'll get around to it," he dismissively said, shrugging it off. Maybe he'd kill Dipper tonight over him backing out of sex. "Are you done yet?"

"Fine, I get it. You're 'busy', or whatever. Just get over here tomorrow so you can get the details."

Maybe he'd show. Or he could be late and watch Robbie get worked up. "Is that all?" he prompted, prepared to hang up.

"Yeah, better be here though."

"No promises." He ended the call, aware he'd be getting several pissed off texts from Robbie. Oh well, he'd just delete them without looking.

Dropping his phone onto his bed, he was quick to get dressed– wearing his usual black and yellow suit, minus the jacket. Once clothed, he slipped his phone into his pocket and headed out of his room.

Only to immediately see Dipper sitting on the couch, a new plaid shirt replacing the old. Fuck that kid, he still hadn't forgiven him for earlier. "Nice to see you've opted to fuck the couch."

Dipper didn't look up from his phone. "Yeah, turns out an inanimate object is still a better lay than you."

"Must be because you  _are_  one with how quickly you backed out of our agreement. What a couch slut, it's no surprise you haven't had a sexual relationship before."

"I prefer the term 'pillow princess', thanks." Dipper finally looked away from his phone to give him a displeased stare, and he said, "Consent is ongoing, Bill, and it can get revoked if you start to throw around horrible names or… try to force it."

Bill huffed, staring icily at Dipper. "It's not my fault  _you_  were the one that decided to  _lead me on_. I can't believe you… you'd  _do that_ , I fucking trusted you."

" _Lead you on_?" he repeated, exasperated. "I  _wanted_ to go through with it. At least until you… got really aggressive for some reason. I guess because I tried to slow things down?" Putting his phone aside, Dipper leaned into the sofa and sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "It would've been my first time, I didn't want to speed through it."

"We  _were_  taking it slow. Any slower and it'd be like we're snails trying to climb a fucking mountain. It doesn't take six fucking hours to go from kissing to penetration, Pine Tree."

"I wasn't hoping for six hours of foreplay. All I'd asked for was more kissing and grinding, for like… a few minutes, just so I could get more comfortable with moving forward."

Of course he'd say that. "Oh please, that 'few minutes' would turn into thirty, then an hour, then two, because you'd never get fucking comfortable enough." It's how Dipper was– always making fucking excuses.

"If you would've given me the time to do it, I'd become more comfortable," Dipper protested. "But even if I never did, what does it matter? We were having a good time, and friends with benefits isn't intended to satisfy only one person."

"You not wanting to go further killed any enjoyment on my end," Bill muttered. "It's sex, Pine Tree, not a makeout session. If you wanted that, you shouldn't have–"

"Will you stop acting like I didn't want to go further?" His patience seemed to slip for a second. "I told you I did. I was ready to let you fuck me into next week, but you just  _had_ to be a jackass about it."

He wasn't the bad guy here. "If you wanted it to escalate, you shouldn't have told me to stop." Seriously, he could've brought them both the pleasure they desired.

"Slow down is different than stop. I only said to stop after you… you tried to pin me down and do it anyway." A shudder passed through him, and he curled into himself. "It was…kind of scary to see you like that. You looked like you were going to—" the word caught for a moment, "force me."

"I just wanted to take your boxers off," he said. "Makes the grinding feel  _so much better_  when it's actually skin on skin and we're not rubbing our dicks raw on fabric." He probably would've escalated it further, but Dipper didn't need to know about that.

"But that's not the issue here," Dipper pointed out. "It's that I was uncomfortable with something, and you continued to pressure me, then…  _threatened_ me, and finally attempted to guilt me into a pity blowjob? What the hell, man?"

Bill bristled. "It's not a pity blowjob, it's courteous. You lead me on and try to leave, I get a blowjob out of it so my time isn't completely wasted. Look it up."

"For the second time, I didn't lead you on." The kid's shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "Look, if all that stuff didn't happen, you'd respected my request to stop, and you didn't act so damn entitled about it, I probably would've sucked you off. But then again, if you'd slowed down to start with, you would've gotten laid so..."

"If  _you_  had been comfortable, we both would've had a good time."

A sound of frustration escaped Dipper. "Isn't it at least half your responsibility to make sure I'm comfortable before proceeding?" He raised an eyebrow, going on to clarify, "As my friend with benefits and heterosexual life partner."

Bill wanted to spit on him. Or stab him. Or shoot him. He wasn't sure what. "You acted like you were, what the hell was I supposed to fucking think? You're the one who's so damn indecisive."

"I don't know how I acted like it," irritation was creeping into his voice, "but I literally straight up told you I wanted to go slower, and I told you  _how_ I wanted to go slower. How much clearer do I have to be?"

"If you want to go  _slower_ , don't act like we're going to be having sex. With your inability to decide, we'll never fucking reach that point."

Dipper blinked at him, then… laughed? It was short and sad, but still a laugh nonetheless. "That's not why we won't be reaching that point, dude. I don't think we should be doing heavy physical stuff for a while, since you freaked me out with the whole… pinning me down and name calling extravaganza."

Stars, he was sick of this kid right now. "Nothing you've done has given me a reason to  _not_  call you names." This slut could pretend to be a  _victim_  all he wanted, the only injured party here was Bill, and he couldn't stand to be around Dipper anymore. "I'm going on a drive. Are you fucking coming?"

But he couldn't be without him.

"No, leave me alone." It seemed Dipper couldn't either because he was getting up from the sofa and slipping into his shoes, waiting by the door with his arms folded. "Also, we're getting coffee."

Bitterly, Bill said, "Are you going to change your mind with the coffee too?"

Dipper snarled, "Probably, there are just so many places to choose from, and this  _fucking slut_ can't decide."

"Glad you're learning your place, you damn whore."

By the time they reached Cool Beans, Bill was feeling slightly better, perhaps because he'd managed to scare Dipper various times by picking up his speed past suggested limits while they'd been driving. And he'd come close to hitting things—objects, people, cars—but had swerved out of the way each time, moments before a collision. Dipper had grumped at him the majority of the ride, it was giving him a headache.

After he'd finished putting in their usual order for coffee, Dipper asked, "Do they have any decent food here? I'm hungry."

What kind of establishment wouldn't have food? Bill turned back to the speaker, placing the order for several vanilla bean scones. "They do. For my vanilla-smelling baise mon pote."

With a frown, Dipper averted his gaze to look out of the passenger window. "If you called me a slut again, I really don't want to know."

"No, that'd be  _putain_. Which is funny, it sounds like the food. Or that Russian guy." The vehicle pulled forward, stopping beside the next window.

Dipper didn't say anything else but gave a tiny hum, a lackadaisical one. He was becoming as boring as Robbie.

Bill paid for their order and gave their mugs to the individual working, placing them in the cupholders once they were returned with coffee inside. After a couple minutes, the bag of scones were given to them, and Bill handed the pastries to Dipper before he pulled out of the drive thru, heading in the direction of Banham Canyon for some stargazing. Unlike Dipper, those stars were never a disappointment. "Enjoy, cutie. Those're good but sweet as shit."

"Thanks," he replied but kept the unopened bag on his lap. "Are we going back?"

"Nope." Bill had something much better in mind. If Dipper had an issue with that… well, he offered to come. Bill didn't  _make him_. "We're going to the canyon."

Dipper didn't seem amused and dryly said, "Oh, this must be the part of our relationship where I become a case file in murder porn. Honestly, I didn't think it'd take us three weeks to get here."

With that attitude, Bill should drive their vehicle over the canyon cliff and shut him up for good. "It's for stargazing, though keep talking like that and it'll be spliced with death."

"Should I even bother begging for my life?" he questioned coldly. "You seem to have a loose grasp on the meaning of 'stop.'"

"Huh, I've never had a girlfriend PMS so much. Maybe I should take the coffee and scones back, chuck them out the window." The kid needed to get over it, he was being tiring.

"Girlfriend?" Dipper's voice had raised an octave in surprise. How fitting for the occasion. "Are you implying I'm your girlfriend?"

What else would he be at this point, with all his bitching? "You're certainly not a  _boy_ friend. I'm not gay and you're not nearly masculine enough."

Groaning crossly, he asked, "How many times do I have to tell you that we're not dating? And I don't even  _want_ to date you, you'd be the worst boyfriend ever with your sleeping around and warped view of consent."

He knew they weren't actually  _dating_ yet. It was only a matter of time though, with how obsessed Dipper was with him. "What?" he demanded. "I'll have you'd know I'd be the  _best_  boyfriend." How could he not be? Bill was  _amazing in every way_  and nothing Dipper said would change that. "Why did you even want to come with me if all your going to do is nag?"

"You've mostly been a total jerk to me," Dipper huffed, "especially tonight. And if you didn't want me to come with you, why did you ask?"

"I didn't think you'd spend half the ride being a goddamn killjoy." He didn't think he'd take him up on the offer either, but now he was regretting even bothering.

"I'm not a killjoy," he muttered. "I'm frustrated with you because you still don't see the problem with what you did earlier."

That was in the past. Stars, this kid needed to learn how to move on. It's like his parents died all over again. "Everything you've said tonight is demonstrative of a killjoy, doll. I don't know what you want from me." It sounded familiar but remained true– Bill wasn't going to learn just because Dipper was whining at him.

An irritated exhale escaped him, and his grip tightened on the bag of vanilla bean scones. "All I want is for you to understand, and an apology would be nice."

"You're going to have to do better than squeak at me to make me understand." And he sure as hell wouldn't be apologizing until then.

"Well, until you get it, we can't resume the benefits part of our… messed up friendship. And before you make a comment, we're  _not_ dating."

Eventually, the vehicle slowed to a stop, the city long behind them as they settled at the top of the canyon. Bill moved to exit the vehicle, grabbing his coffee in the process. The door slammed behind him, and he could hear Dipper doing the same.

With his own coffee in hand and the bag of scones in the other, Dipper sat on the hood of the vehicle and Bill plopped beside him, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked up at the sky. As the scent of vanilla bean filled the air, his stomach faintly growled– something he tried to ignore until it continued, the noise loud enough to attract a questioning look from Dipper. He took another sip of his coffee before he spoke. "Could I have some of those?"

"The scones?" Dipper rustled the bag, examining him for a second through a skeptical gaze before handing one over. "Okay."

Taking the small scone, he dropped it in his mouth and chowed down. It was tasty, sweet as hell, but nonetheless was still good. It took only a few seconds to fully consume, then Dipper handed him another that he ate. Good, he didn't want to ask again, and it reaffirmed that maybe he was learning his place at last as he'd suggested earlier.

Realizing he was done with that one as well, Dipper gave him a third scone, expression blank.

But he didn't feel the need to take it, already having ate enough to tide him over until they could get something better. "Keep it, I'm good." Two was enough to silence the growls of his stomach and if he had more, he'd probably get sick.

Dipper didn't move to retract the scone, actually pushing it closer to him. "No, this is yours." … Okay. He wasn't expecting Dipper to be so pushy over it. He took the scone, downing it with a mixture of coffee. It was definitely getting a bit too sweet for his taste, but the bitterness of the coffee made it slightly more tolerable.

"Here," he said as he produced another scone from the bag, offering it in the same manner.

"No, really, I'm good–" Three had been more than enough, he didn't want more now that becoming sick from the taste was a real possibility.

"But it's  _yours_. Take it," he said without faltering. Bill obliged after a moment, consuming the fourth scone. It was getting sickening, but once he was done, Dipper was already handing him a fifth.

"I'm beginning to think you're the witch from Hansel and Gretel. Why are you being so demanding with this?" He just wanted a couple to shut his stomach up. Bill didn't care for Dipper trying to force-feed him.

Dipper seemed irrationally irked by his disinterest in the scone. "You said you wanted some scones, so eat the scone, jackass."

"I don't  _want_  to eat the scone." Why wasn't he getting this? It wasn't hard. He was full, and the overwhelming sweetness was getting gross.

Frowning, his eyes darkened. "Then I'll force it down your throat. You  _said_ you wanted it."

Bill bristled, and Dipper seemed to take that as an invitation to go through with the threat because he began to fucking shove the damn thing at his mouth. Bill swatted at him, wanting to fight this shrimp but simultaneously trying to avoid hurting him (he'd already complained enough tonight.) Once he'd gotten Dipper detached from him, he growled, "What the fuck was that about, you little bitch? I'm not fucking eating it."

"Seriously? I put in all this work of getting it out of the bag and you're not going to eat it?" Dipper snapped, then his eyes flicked to Bill's coffee. "Just for that, now you owe me your coffee for wasting my time and energy."

Bill stared, eyes narrowed. The cogwheels of his mind were turning.

And then, he connected it. "... Oh.  _Ohhh_." So that's what that was like, earlier when they'd been getting physical. He wanted to punch himself for his previous actions, his sheer stupidity and how he'd acted. No wonder Dipper didn't want to have sex with him.

Dipper blushed lightly and ducked his head, a small grin forming on his lips as he ate the scone himself.

"Sorry," Bill said after a moment. "About uh, before. I won't do that to you again, if we ever get back to that point." If they didn't, he guess he'd just have to steal one of Dipper's socks. "And I won't be a dick about calling you demeaning names and shit."

"Thanks," he murmured. "We'll see about the friends with benefits? I just… really needed to hear that from you. And uh," Dipper paused to scratch the back of his neck, looking a pinch sheepish, "I'm sorry about trying to force feed you a scone. I thought… it'd help you understand, though."

Bill simply laughed and murmured, "Come here, Pine Tree."

And Dipper did so without hesitation, scooting over to wrap his arms around Bill, essentially leaning into him with most of his weight. Briefly, he wondered if Dipper enjoyed this as much as he did, simply being together. Bill wasn't even one for hugging usually, but it was hard to resist the kid, particularly when he seemed dead set on making him a better person.

Circling Dipper's waist and pulling the kid into a gentle embrace, he nuzzled the top of his head. "Love ya."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): gaslighting, drugging, an unreliable and hallucinogenic narrative.

Dipper woke to the pelting of heavy rain on the skylight above Bill's—no, he mentally corrected,  _their_  bed. The weather was a surprise since rain was uncommon enough in Los Santos, and a downpour was unheard of, but here it was, right above them.

Outside the room, he could hear faint, low voices over the sound of the rain's pittering and assumed that was Stan and Ford engaging in their usual bickering. However, he wasn't interested in joining them, not yet.

Rolling over to face Bill, Dipper had been about to speak but held his tongue, merely taking in his sleeping form for a moment. It was so peaceful, almost inviting. He wanted to draw him like this but figured he probably shouldn't… that was a little creepy, it was creepy enough that he'd been staring for several seconds, simply marveling at his beauty.

Deciding it was time for Bill to wake up as well, Dipper shifted to be partially on top of him, leaning down to nuzzle his collarbone, then his shoulder, drinking in the sweet scent of sleep mixed with spicy honey. "Bill," he murmured against his skin, the lingering sleep apparent in his own voice. Humming, he worked his way along Bill's jaw with kisses, continuing the trail down the column of his throat and over his tattoos.

He was comfortable with this, the kisses and non-sexual touches. It'd been the extent of their friends with benefits relationship ever since the day Bill had severely pushed his boundaries and while he'd learned from the experience, Dipper freaked out afterward. He tried to hide it, he tried to pretend he didn't hear when Bill had said  _that._ Those words.

But he certainly had heard because the obsessive, worried thoughts wouldn't leave him alone. Dipper had reviewed a hundred reasons (and more) why Bill hadn't actually meant that, how he'd been joking, or probably searching for a reaction, but all he'd been able to do at the time was freeze. Dipper didn't want to talk about it, preferring to pretend that'd never happened in the first place and hope it wouldn't happen again. Bill didn't love him. Bill wasn't  _in love_ with him, it wasn't logical or remotely possible.

Beneath him, Bill was beginning to stir, a grumble escaping his lips as his hand feebly came up to swat Dipper away. While it was a pathetic attempt to discourage him, Dipper hadn't cared for that, and he silently demonstrated his displeasure by nipping him.

Bill softly growled, his eyes snapping open to glare at Dipper. "You're ruining my beauty sleep, doll."

"You don't need it," Dipper replied teasingly, pulling back to meet his gaze. "You're already insanely attractive." Said exaggeratedly, but had a hint of truth to it when he'd been captivated by the mere sight of Bill resting only minutes ago.

"How do you think I look so good? Lots of uninterrupted sleep." If he was upset, it had to be minimal because Bill leaned up, kissing his nose.

At the small display of affection, a smile was fighting through his feigned frown, but Dipper still rolled his eyes. "That's the biggest lie I've ever heard, insomniac."

He sank back into the mattress. "Not an insomniac around you, cutie."

"Wait, I'm not waking you up?" The nightmares were less, but barely. That'd been what happened with Mabel and led to his removal from the guest bedroom, but he couldn't complain about it now that he slept in Bill's room. He liked it a lot better, being surrounded by Bill's things— he'd even done some decorating himself a while ago after moving his things in. When Bill had been out on a job, he printed off the cheesiest environmental consciousness posters he could find and taped them on the walls. Bill almost tore them down, complaining they were ruining the Lin-Manuel vibe.

"No." Bill hummed, as if in thought. "I actually get some shut-eye around you. Amazing, I know. Must be all those piggyback rides you keep demanding."

"I didn't realize those were  _so straining_. I should probably chill on the Pop-Tarts, huh? Oh— here, I don't want to suffocate you." And he rolled off of Bill, settling back on his side.

He didn't get far because there was an arm wrapping around his body, pulling Dipper close until he was happily nuzzling back into Bill. "You can't suffocate me, doll. You're too tiny. A cuddlebug."

"You're really fun to cuddle," he mumbled, resuming the scattered kisses over Bill's skin. "And I like waking up next to you, it's nice that I'm not immediately handed a third of a cab fare."

"Should I start doing that?" he inquired, kissing Dipper's forehead. "I'll give you a fifth, make you work for a full cab."

"A fifth every morning…? You only want me to stay with you for five days?"

Bill shrugged, then planted a kiss on his cheek. "You'd keep coming back for more regardless."

It was true, but Dipper made a contemplative noise. "How much does Stan give for the cab fare?"

"Nothing, he only fucks Ford."

Gross. He didn't know why Bill was convinced Stan and Ford were in an incestuous relationship, but that comment earned Bill an instant frown, and Dipper sat up to playfully smack him in the face with his pillow. "Dude, you are the worst."

Bill let out a small yelp, grabbing his pillow and hitting Dipper's chest in revenge, at which he squeaked but was perhaps enjoying it more than he'd care to admit. "I'm only being honest, Pine Tree!"

"You're being a dick," Dipper insisted through a laugh, giving Bill a last shove before dropping down on him. "I don't know if I told you this, but Stan… he was wondering why I stuck around you."

"Did you tell him I'm the best?"

He grinned. "Nah, I couldn't come up with a reason and didn't answer, but Stan still went into the whole speech on the Birds and the Bills. It was  _surreal_."

Bill blew air at him. "It's surreal you didn't tell him how great I am. It's like you're not pulling your heterosexual life partner weight."

"Maybe you should start by proving you're actually great," Dipper countered.

"Hey, I've done  _plenty of things_  to showcase my superiority."

Eyebrows raising, he said, "I didn't know you had time for that between calling me a 'midget' and threatening to tie me up in your trunk, giving people bad advice, throwing me out of your car, and generally antagonizing the whole crew." Bill had done worse things, too. What he'd mentioned didn't even top the list of terrible deeds.

He could feel Bill's teeth graze his neck, eliciting a soft noise of contentment from him. "At this rate, I  _will_  tie you up and lock you in my trunk. Maybe that'll get you to appreciate my  _excellent_ advice."

"How about we compromise… tie me up and put me in the backseat?"

"With your legs spread?" The tone Bill gave was teasing, but his hands had snaked their way to Dipper's thighs, stroking them. "I'd be down for that."

A few seconds of that had Dipper nearly melting against him. "Bill…" he murmured with a slight persistence— like he knew they shouldn't be doing this, convinced they should stop before things spiraled out of control again, but he couldn't deny that he  _really_ wanted to hear more.

Bill's response was a light hum, continuing to stroke his thighs while Dipper's breath caught. His face felt warm. "What's on your mind, doll?"

Lazily, he mused, "Oh, I'm sure my thoughts wouldn't be of interest to you."

"You'd be surprised, cutie." One hand had shifted, fingers teetering on the edge of Dipper's pajama pants, like he wanted to slip between them and his boxers.

"We should, uh… stop," Dipper suggested, the most basic of desires screaming out at him in protest. With a sheepish laugh, he tried to ignore how flustered he was already and said, "You're going to get me all worked up."

Bill withdrew his fingers, letting them hover over Dipper's legs as his gaze lifted to meet his. "Are you sure, darling?" It was terribly tempting to fold with Bill's hands right there and that sweet tone...

"Don't do this," he meant to sound determined but it came out more like a whine. "You know we shouldn't do anything." It wasn't just because of how horribly everything had went the previous time they were attempting to be intimate, it was Dipper's realization that the heat of the moment had gotten to him and coaxed him into making a rather poor decision: nearly sleeping with Bill. They had been trying to take things slow, and… and then there was  _that_ , the thing he didn't want to think about.

Bill telling him he loved him. That alone was enough to rule out sex, at least until he had confirmation that it didn't mean anything to Bill.

Bill's expression was one of disappointment, but he didn't fight him as he dropped his hand to the mattress. "So what do you want to do, Pine Tree?"

"Get up? See what they're talking about out there." He could still hear Stan and Ford talking, but it was too muffled by the wall between them to be intelligible. With a glance at the clock, he realized they'd slept in and wondered how he'd managed to do that, but chalked it up to the calming sound of a rainstorm and Bill's presence. "I'm surprised you didn't have to wake up sooner with the job planned for today."

"Not everyone jumps at the opportunity of going on a boring ass job. We're not even raiding the armory. Or stealing a tank." Bill groaned, though Dipper didn't see the issue with that. A boring job was a safer job. "It's warm in here, fuck getting up."

"Trust me, I'd rather stay in bed with you all day too." It was cozy, comfortable. It was like their own little pocket of the universe where he could forget about everything else for a while and enjoy Bill's embrace as they dozed off.

Bill grumbled, "Do you think Stan and Ford'll notice I'm gone if I stay in here?"

"Yeah, there'll be a distinct lack of a pesky bumblebee buzzing around," Dipper joked with a smile, "and I think Stan was pretty clear when he said he needed everyone for the job."

Another groan escaped Bill, and he detached himself from Dipper to get out of bed. "Guess I'd better go, then."

He fell onto his back and landed among the pool of sheets, as Bill forced his way out from under him to begin to get dressed while Dipper watched in mild interest. "Why do you always wear formal attire? It looks like a lot of work." It wasn't simply a nice shirt and slacks, it was those things plus suspenders, a vest, a bowtie, and sometimes a blazer.

"I look good in it," Bill responded, tugging the ends of his bowtie to straighten it. "It  _suits_  me." Yeah, he was going to act like he hadn't heard that stupid pun. It was too early for Bill's shenanigans.

"I wouldn't know, I haven't seen you in anything else." Not for an exceedingly long time, anyway. Well, he'd seen him with nothing on and that… that had been an experience, a quite pleasant one.

Finishing up, Bill looked at him as his hands smoothed out his coat. "What do you want to see me in, doll?"

Dipper's eyes dragged over Bill, trying to think of the best outfit for him, one he'd never see in a million years. This was a golden opportunity. After giving it some consideration, he answered, "A Hawaiian shirt and khakis. Oh, and sunglasses. A tourist like you will finally be dressed appropriately."

"Noted," was the simple response. Bill waited a moment before he continued to explain the caveat, "If I'm wearing that, you need to wear something for me."

Although concerned about where this may be headed with previous conversations springing to mind, he slowly replied, "Okay…" as he waited for Bill to elaborate.

"You know how I said you'd make a good bunny? I think you should wear a playboy bunny outfit for me, cutie."

When the familiar request reemerged, he wasn't even surprised and gave the lightest of shrugs, sliding off the bed to change out of his pajamas and get dressed as well. "Maybe." If Bill actually did wear a Hawaiian shirt and khakis, they could deal with it then, but he wasn't sure he'd be so quick to give up his black and yellow attire long enough to do something as silly as indulge him.

Bill chuckled, leaving to enter the living room. Dipper trailed behind him, observing the sight of an angry Stan glaring out the wall window, which was coated in little drops of rain sliding down the surface.

"Fuck it all!" he growled. "Why the fuck did the weather decide to take a turn for the worse  _today_? The forecast said it'd be cloudy, not a fuckin' thunderstorm."

"Try to calm yourself," Ford said from the sofa. "You've been shouting at the rain for an hour and a half now, so it seems safe to presume it isn't intimidated by you."

"Why are you mad about the rain?" Dipper asked, tilting his head. Any rain they could get in Los Santos was generally a positive thing with the draughts rampaging.

Ford sighed, "He's not actually mad at the  _rain_. He's frustrated with McGucket's hangups in disabling the security, and he's taking it out on the weather."

Bill glanced at Ford with hope glittering in his eyes. "Is the heist off?"

"Delayed," he corrected, "the changes in the system will not take effect until tomorrow morning, so we'll do it then."

Stan didn't seem to care that the delay was minor. "We don't even have Wendy now, she has to go to the fucking courthouse tomorrow to testify her mom cheated."

"I could testify too," Bill snickered, and got elbowed in the ribs by an unhappy Dipper. "Also, won't be around tomorrow, or tonight for that matter. I have prior arrangements I can't change."

That was news to him. "You're not going to be here?"

Stan visibly bristled. "You can't fuckin' bail on us, we need you!"

Even Ford, who usually was calm about these types of situations, was looking distressed. "Ah, but a weakened security system will alert them… This is our best and perhaps only window, so would it be at all possible to rearrange your prior commitments?"

"I told you I couldn't," Bill reminded Ford, a hint of coldness to his words. "It's not my problem if your hacker failed at his job. This morning was my only opening."

Deciding this conversation wasn't improved by his spectating since he was probably adding to their stress, Dipper departed for the kitchen and began sifting through cabinets for a late breakfast. Not long after, he had a bowl of sugary cereal before him, waiting to be carted to the living room and consumed while he watched whatever was on television. Maybe a nature documentary, if Ford had the remote last.

It appeared he was correct about the nature documentary, today's episode featuring cats, as he took a seat on the sofa beside Bill and began to scoop spoonfuls of the cereal into his mouth. Bill yawned, his arm moving to settle around Dipper's shoulders, and Dipper leaned into the touch, resting his weight against Bill. "So cutie, when you're done eating, do you want to go back to bed?"

He briefly stopped eating to ask, "What? Why?" While enticing, they'd already gone through the motions of getting out of bed. It'd defeat the purpose to return.

"Heist's off, we don't need to be up anymore. Besides, the cuddling's nice."

Behind them, Stan yelled, "Keep your pants on, Bill!"

"To be honest, I agree with Stan," Dipper said, then lowered his voice to go on. "Whenever your pants are off, this peculiar thing happens— we almost end up taking our friends with benefits too far." In his peripherals, Dipper could see Ford gazing at them, and he shifted uncomfortably while he returned to eating his cereal. It was unnerving, how interested everybody seemed to be in his complicated relationship with Bill.

Bill was scowling. "My pants  _are_  on! Besides," he dropped his voice to a murmur, "even if they weren't, you'd still eye my dick up like it's candy."

Bill's words made his cheeks redden, and Dipper gave a hiss of his name. They were sitting in the living room,  _in the open_ with Stan and Ford nearby! He couldn't just  _say_ things like that, even if he did have the decency to keep it mostly out of earshot.

He chuckled, sparing a glance toward Stan and Ford as he went on quietly. "You liked that, didn't you? Seeing how hard my cock was?"

Dipper tried to busy himself with shoveling down the last of his cereal, wishing he could tune out Bill. "I am not hearing this." But it was terribly obvious that he was, the way he sat rigidly against Bill, his muscles stiff and his blush still apparent.

By now, the scene on the television had changed, showing two cats mating. Bill leaned over, murmuring in Dipper's ear: "You're the only girl I'd wanna knock up."

Dipper's eyes went wide. " _Okay_! That's..." he trailed off, shaking his head because he wasn't even going to bother with the rest of the sentence, scurrying from the living room to put the dirtied dishes near the sink.

He could hear Bill following behind him. "Running away? I always knew you'd play hard to get, being the little pussycat you are."

Dipper spun toward Bill, the dip of his back pressing against the granite countertop. "Dude, what the hell?" he asked, voice raised. "Like, I don't even— I don't know how to begin with everything that just happened." He honestly wasn't sure what to think but took comfort in that it was probably one of Bill's stupid jokes used to rile him.

"Well," Bill murmured, "I was hoping to get a rise out of you and see if Ford would react, but you booked it like a bitch in heat, so I couldn't resist the chance of making fun of you a little."

Dipper relaxed slightly upon receiving the explanation he'd been hoping for. He wouldn't have known what to do if Bill was serious. Maybe start running again. "Oh," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. While this was the preferred outcome, he was still the tiniest bit irritated by it. "I'm glad you don't want to knock me up because that's not only biologically impossible, but I don't think kids are in my future…. and for the sake of these hypothetical children, hopefully they're not in yours either."

He huffed, moving to join Dipper at his side and put his arms around him. "Please, if they're mine they'd be great. The 'me' half of them, that is."

"I'm not saying you'd have bad children, I'm saying you'd be a bad parent," Dipper clarified. "And besides, you'd never find anyone up to your standards to have them with."

"To be fair," Bill informed him, "I wouldn't stick around if I knocked someone up. Their body, not my problem."

Wriggling out of Bill's grasp, Dipper turned away from him to begin washing dishes in the sink since quite a few had built up. "Wow, you're a special kind of human trash." It was like he set the bar lower every time they talked.

"Hey cutie, that doesn't mean it applies to you if your body worked like that. Probably."

He'd never been more thankful to not have a uterus, but he was really wishing he didn't have ears either. All he wanted to do was get through this stack of dishes, and if ignoring Bill would make him stop, then he'd do it.

Bill carried on casually, "I mean, I like ya, y'know? And I'd like coming in you, watching my seed spill out." Oh god, what did he do to deserve this? "It's just, I don't want to be stuck with those squirmy, screaming sacks of flesh that're worthless for ten years. Those women that deal with them are fucking  _crazy_."

Dipper was pretty sure any last innocence he had was gone once he'd finished speaking, but to his horror, it kept going: "How much do you think I could fuck into you before it just bursts out of that tiny hole of yours?"

By now, Dipper wanted to hide his face in his hands and never come out. "Bill, seriously. For the love of those stupid stars you worship, stop talking." It was… extremely lewd, and someone could walk in at any moment; they weren't surrounded by the privacy of Bill's room, where these  _fantasies_ would be slightly more appropriate to discuss.

Bill chuckled lowly, moving out of his sight to stand behind him. Hands gently grasped his hips and Bill drew closer, eliminating the space between them until Dipper could feel his bulge against his ass.

The movement was enough to put a lull in his dish washing, but he snapped from his daze with a shuddering exhale. "Someone could see us." They couldn't do this. Not here, not… in the middle of the kitchen when Stan and Ford were in the living room and could pass by the entryway. A simple glance would be all it took, then his and Bill's relationship would be called into question again.

With how Bill experimentally grinded against him despite his caution, it seemed he didn't care. It stopped as soon as it started since Bill paused after a moment, letting go of him and backing off as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Confusion briefly crossed his face, and he began to head out of the kitchen. "I gotta take this, it's Chief Moneybags."

Dipper didn't have a clue who Chief Moneybags was, nor did he care to give it a lot of thought, glad he was able to get to the dishes without having to fight off Bill's advances while doing so. And without the interruptions, he was finished within minutes and headed back into the living room, noting there was no Bill in sight. Just Ford, lingering around his beloved whiteboard as Stan watched television from the sofa.

The channel had been changed to boxing, something Dipper wasn't particularly interested in, but he sat down anyway because now that Bill was at least temporarily distracted with something else, he had a chance to talk about the heist. Bill's presence would have resulted in abject failure. "So, about the job today— well, tomorrow I guess…" he began, shooting Stan a sideways glance. "What are you guys going to do with Wendy and Bill gone?"

Stan shook his head. "I dunno, kid. Get our asses got, I guess." He brightened up as one of the wrestlers smashed a chair into the other, knocking him down. "Fight, fight, fight!"

"Wait, you're still going to do it?"

"Likely not," Ford responded for Stan, having must've overheard their conversation. "It'd be too dangerous without sufficient lookouts on the premises."

Dipper offered, "If all you need are lookouts, Mabel and I could do that." He wasn't expecting anything except rejection, but his interest in at least trying a job remained, as did his promise to Mabel that he would try this lifestyle before making a decision.

"I'm afraid it's too much of a risk," Ford told him, not even looking away from the whiteboard. He spoke plainly, matter-of-factly, like there was no possibility of him and Mabel being included in the mission — but it wasn't a surprise, it was what he'd assumed the response would be and wasn't terribly disappointed. His hopes hadn't been high to begin with.

Stan looked like he was going to say something, but Mabel throwing open the guest room door silenced him as she spoke. "What's up, gentlemen!" A pause when her gaze fell on Dipper. "And Dipper!"

"Hey Mabel," Dipper greeted, scooting over on the sofa to make room for her. "Want to watch some…" he stole a glance at the television, seeing they were still on the boxing channel, "half-dressed dudes fighting?" Strangely, it seemed Stan had lost interest in the programming since he was rising from the couch and heading over to Ford, where they spoke in hushed voices.

"I got plenty of that action last night," she said as she took the spot beside him, nudging him with a wink.

Head tilting, Dipper made a light, perplexed humming noise. "What?" It didn't make sense to him, even as he mentally compiled a list of possibilities: Stan and Ford had been in their pajamas bickering, Bill and Stan had been fighting again (seemed unlikely), Mabel had witnessed a random street fight, or she'd tuned into another boxing match.

Mabel fell into a fit of giggles. "Geez, you really need to get laid, bro-bro."

"...I don't  _need_ to get laid," he protested, "and it's not like I don't have the option." Bill had made that exceedingly clear, and recently they'd almost upped their physical relationship. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You and Bill could be the half-naked dudes fighting, duh!"

Dipper let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, uh… nah. I'm good." Maybe sometime in the future if they were able to work up to that point, but he was determined to avoid allowing spur of the moment emotions to cloud his decision-making. In reference to her earlier comment, he added, "I still don't get it though."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Where's Bill anyway? It must be devastating to not be with your soulmate." She shoved him playfully and he emitted a noise of mock annoyance, gently shoving her back.

"Soulmate, huh?" Dipper questioned, amused. "Is that what he's calling me when I'm not around?" He wouldn't put it past Bill, but at least it was one step above 'girlfriend', for sure.

"No, but I can see it with how you longingly gaze at him." That made Dipper laugh, he didn't look at Bill like that. "How are you two not together yet?"

"Wouldn't being together imply a romantic interest…? I don't have that for Bill," he shrugged before continuing, "and I don't think he does either. For me, I mean. He's probably really attracted to himself." The 'love ya' haunted his memory, but he forced it away with the rationalization that Bill was doing it solely for his reaction, otherwise it left an uneasy feeling. Although he could still hear Stan and Ford in the background, their voices now raised, he went on, "And I don't think I'm ready for an actual relationship." Especially not with Bill, given how he'd lied about important aspects of himself and his life, and did other questionable things.

Mabel shook her head. "Dipper, you're amazing, but you can't let your life be held up just because our parents no longer have one." While he ducked his head in guilt, that wasn't the only problem when Bill wasn't the best person to be committed to, putting it lightly. "Live a little, go crazy with Bill. I'm sure you'd be ready if you actually gave it a shot." She suddenly whirled, glaring at Stan and Ford. Their voices had increased to yelling, anger etched across both their faces. "Why are you two  _fighting_? I'm  _trying_ to give my bro-bro an inspirational speech and you're  _ruining_  it!"

Stan let out a frustrated grunt, his unwavering gaze on Ford. "Only thing  _ruined_  here is our heist. We can't do it without two extra sets of eyes and  _someone_  refuses to budge." A tiny pinch of excitement flooded him at that— was Stan considering it? He hadn't thought it'd get further than an immediate 'no' but maybe he wanted their help after all.

"We should perhaps relocate this… discussion," Ford used the word stiffly. "Would you like to take a walk, Stanley?" It was a request, but there was something stony underneath that suggested declining wasn't an option.

"Would you like my foot–" Stan had begun threateningly, his words masked by Bill's entrance. Dipper hadn't even heard his door close.

"Pine Tree," Bill's voice spoke over Stan's, "I need you stat."

His questioning gaze drifted to Mabel's, but he eventually conceded when she motioned for him to go, and Dipper departed from the living room to see what Bill could want. He was encouraged into his bedroom, the door closing behind him once he was inside.

Sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his palms, Dipper awaited an explanation. "I hope this wasn't a scheme to get me back into bed with you."

"Sorry cutie," Bill said. "As much as I know you'd love me to mount you—"

"I swear to god I'll leave if you keep this up."

"—I was going to ask if you'd like to attend a party with me tonight."

"A party," he repeated, quizzically.

Bill shrugged. "It's more of a soirée, minus the people who only hang around for an hour or so. A private party for the rich where city officials converse and enjoy some music."

Dipper thought about what he said for a second, recognition flickering— through his parents, he knew about these gatherings, though he wouldn't call it a 'party' exactly. They were always formal events for the most well-respected members of Los Santos, plus representatives of the police department, politicians, and anyone else who had riches beyond comprehension. " _You're_  invited to that?" he asked with wide eyes. "W-why? How?" And that wasn't even touching on the bigger issue of Bill wanting to go _with him_.

"I have friends in high places, doll. You wouldn't catch me dead at the first couple hours, though. It's  _so boring_  when other gangsters aren't around."

Dipper gawked, having been under the impression it was a civilized social event for networking purposes. "Gangsters are in attendance?" His parents, in all of the times they'd gone, had never mentioned such a thing.

He chuckled. "You didn't know? I figured the spawn of a senator and mayor would know all about these parties. Did they never hang around until later?"

"They knew about them  _and_ regularly attended them," Dipper confirmed with a nod, then became puzzled as he remembered the other piece of what Bill said. "...What do you mean 'later'?"

"After the first hour or two, a good chunk of attendees depart. That leaves behind the… bolder individuals in office, ones who aren't afraid to get their hands a little dirty. Most of the gang-affiliated guests are invited by them."

Processing that, Dipper frowned. This definitely hadn't been mentioned to him before, and he doubted his parents even knew about the nightlife and extremely corrupt element of the event. It wasn't shocking since internal corruption was and constantly had been an issue in Los Santos, but he hadn't realized Bill was a cog in that machine. Swallowing hard, he stated, "And you actually want me to accompany you to this. Won't someone recognize me?"

Bill flicked at his shoulder. "That's the point, cutie. They're all corrupt, they don't care! They'll just see you as a status symbol and be impressed. You remember how Ivan reacted?"

"Ivan? ...The creepy robe guy?"

"Correct."

And oh, he did remember that. Dipper vividly remembered the way Ivan's fascinated gaze had settled on him and hardly left afterward, how he'd examined him like a bug under a microscope. A rare find. The situation had put him on the verge of panic, but this time… "There won't be guns or like, a shootout or anything, right?" If not for the two guns aimed at Bill, he would've been a lot less anxious during the encounter with Ivan. "Because if it's just a formal get-together, I can handle that." Maybe.

He shrugged. "There shouldn't be. Hasn't happened yet." Bill briefly paused. "So, you're coming?"

"If you want me to," he said, then rubbed at his arms and averted his gaze. "It's just— you should know that I'm not really good at parties? I get pretty nervous sometimes, and socializing…" it was hard, he was awkward with strangers. And everyone else, mostly. "I'm not the party-going, socialite type if that's what you're expecting."

"Not expecting that at all," Bill responded. "You don't have to do anything but smile, nod, and look pretty, doll. Hang on my arm, leave most of the talking to me."

That helped ease his mind, but he still asked, "Are you sure you don't want to take Mabel? She'd be a lot more fun and outgoing than I would." Dipper would probably cling to Bill the entire night because he didn't know anybody else personally, beyond perhaps a few of his parents' friends if they were present.

Bill's body shook in laughter. "If I wanted Shooting Star, I would've called for her. I want you, Pine Tree." Dichromatic eyes scanning him, Bill asked, "Do you have anything… stylish to wear?"

Dipper looked down at himself, shifting his weight. "I thought plaid was stylish."

"No. We're going shopping, and I'll debrief you on your etiquette while we're getting you a real suit."

* * *

Several hours and one suit later, Dipper sat in the passenger seat of Bill's car as he waited for their mugs to be returned to them with fresh coffee inside. Bill said a treat would help with his nerves, which were becoming worse by the minute.

The day's shopping trip with Bill hadn't helped curb them, nor did their brief meal together or texting Mabel throughout. It was a good thing to be out of the penthouse since Mabel had been giving him updates: Stan and Ford's fighting continued with bursts of silent treatment thrown into the mix, followed by loud arguing, until they finally went on the walk proposed earlier since the rain dwindled to a drizzle.

On top of his growing anxiety, Dipper was physically uncomfortable and while he didn't blame his clothing entirely, he didn't know how Bill basically  _lived_ in formal attire. It was stuffy and confined, and he yearned to replace it with his comfortable plaid shirts and jeans again.

"We're not going to be there long, right?" he asked, a tremor in his voice. His confidence was slipping.

"That depends," Bill answered, his eyes watching the employee pour the coffee into their mugs. "We'll probably be there for about two hours if we're not held up."

"Held up?" Dipper squeaked, apprehension flaring while he mentally cursed himself because it was stupid and illogical, how heightened his anxiety was over this… over a lot of things now, ever since the death of his parents. It'd become impossible to control, like the appropriate off switch was missing. "Do you think something's going to go wrong?" Surely, nothing positive could come of putting officials and gangsters in a room together, and in his moment of irrationality, he'd forgotten they'd done this before.

He chuckled. "Oh no, doll. I meant as in we get stuck with someone particularly chatty is all. Nothing will happen." The cashier finished, and Bill took their mugs back, pushing down the lids to ensure none of the liquid would spill.

With a sigh of relief, he swept a hand over his hair and leaned into the cushion of the seat. "Bill, I… I'm kind of starting to think this might be a bad idea." If he could hardly keep it together now, he'd certainly crumble at the event itself. "I feel like I'm seriously on the edge of an anxiety attack."

"Maybe you should stop thinking so much, cutie."

Dipper gave him an exasperated look. "I  _can't._  I can't just stop thinking." Didn't Bill realize how ridiculous that was?

Bill smirked at him. "Yes, you can. Just stop, and all your worries will go away." The car had pulled out of the drive thru, and moved into a parking spot.

"I need real advice right now," Dipper insisted, hands scraping uselessly over the fabric of his slacks, which he didn't even want to be wearing, "not your 'Stop' method. I'm not kidding about this, I think it'd be better for both of us if I—"

"Pine Tree," he was suddenly grave, deploying the authoritative tone that never failed to snag his attention, "are you just anxious or do you not want to go?"

"Anxious."

"I see..." Bill put the car in park and looked at him. "Recollect yourself, sugar, and use the restroom while you're at it." Sensing his confusion, Bill elaborated, "While we're there, I want you with me the entire time, and if you're still unsure about going when you get back..." Bill sighed. "We'll discuss further, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed defeatedly but doubted his mind would be changed if the anxiety didn't die down. At least Bill was willing to hear him out, that seemed like a step in the right direction.

After using the coffeehouse's restroom, giving himself a pep talk in the mirror, and straightening the fabric of his suit, Dipper returned to the vehicle only to see Bill holding his coffee. Snatching it away, his expression fell in annoyance and he accused, "You stole some of my coffee while I was gone, didn't you?" A very Bill-esque thing to do in retrospect, he shouldn't have trusted him, but even so he began downing the cold liquid himself. If he was going to be an anxious wreck, he was minimally going to enjoy his overly-complicated hipster coffee first. Dipper made a slight face, "They must've put a lot of espresso in this. It's more bitter than usual."

Bill gave him an innocent grin, taking a sip of his own coffee. "Mine seems fine. Do you want me to take out the employee that gave you too much espresso? I have my gun."

"No," Dipper groaned. "You shouldn't kill anybody." He gulped more coffee, thinking about their current situation: going to a formal soirée, about to be surrounded by the most corrupt and important individuals in the city… with Bill. It was overwhelming, and he still felt on edge about it.

Taking a sip of his drink, Bill shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, getting on the road. "Look, I'm just helping with population control, cutie." Dipper wondered if that was Bill's messed up way of reducing pollution, by reducing the number of people that could pollute.

Moving on, Dipper inquired, "Where are we going?" Fingers crossed, it was back to the penthouse because even though he'd been given a bit to recollect himself, he still felt nervous and was afraid he'd ruin this for Bill while undoubtedly embarrassing himself.

"We're going to the banquet hall," Bill said. "If that's okay with you? You didn't seem as bent out of shape as you were a few minutes ago."

"I don't?" Dipper looked down at his hands that were resting in his lap, not shaking anymore, and then realized he wasn't actually feeling the looming sense of dread at its full strength anymore. He knew it had to be there, but it wasn't weighing him down and threatening to spill over into a panicking episode as it had been a while ago. That breather in the restroom and reassurances from Bill must have been calming, it was the only explanation. "I'm sure it'll be back. It comes in waves."

Bill hummed as he took a right turn. "How about this: we'll go there, and see how you feel once we're outside. How's that sound, cutie?"

It sounded fair, and he complied with a, "Please don't be mad if I can't do it."

"I won't be, sugar."

Dipper wouldn't have known how much time had passed between then and now if not for the digital clock illuminating the darkness with a faint green glow. He remembered watching as the numbers changed, wondering how time could be passing when it felt like every minute was more like a second or an hour. It was hard to decide which when the car ride was lost to scrambled memories, but he was pretty sure he and Bill had talked throughout.

In the parking lot of the banquet hall, he was feeling woozy, but still better than he had before since he wasn't about to spiral into the grasp of anxiety. It was a feeling of floatiness, of absolute peace, and he was only growing more comfortable. Bill had been right, he was doing okay. It was the best he'd felt in weeks, maybe a month.

"Remember what I told you, and leave your phone in here." Parking the vehicle, Bill moved to get out, and Dipper began to do the same before he was stopped: "Hold on there, cutie, let me give you a hand." Although startled by this different request, Dipper waited patiently while Bill walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and taking him by his arm.

"What're you doing…?" Dipper asked, then became puzzled for a brief stint by how it seemed his words were a tick in time behind his mouth, as if the world was lagging slightly. It was weirder yet when his muscles encountered the same problem, and he basically fell into Bill.

"Helping you." Bill murmured, holding him upright and letting Dipper lean into him. Dipper was grateful for the assistance as they walked toward the doors, where someone with a device awaited. "How are you doing?"

"I think there's a glitch in the timeline." That normally would've been cause for extreme concern if he'd been in a solid state of mind, but he wasn't too bothered by this revelation.

"Why do you say that, cutie?"

"Everything is slow." It was frustrating, but that wasn't the most accurate description when he couldn't keep track of time, he didn't even know how long they'd been in this parking lot. "Yeah, I don't like this."

Bill reassured him, "You'll like the party. Give it a chance while we're here." Bill dug into his blazer for a moment, producing a familiar gold handkerchief that he slipped into a pocket of his slacks. "You know what to do with that?"

Dipper nodded, but he wasn't sure if he'd bobbed his head or if everything else had moved around him.

Once they were checked on the guest list and admitted into the hall, he was surprised by the amount of people in attendance, having never known there were that many individuals corrupted by lust of power and greed. Certainly, he'd known this was a problem—it was Los Santos, after all—but to know it was this widespread and extensive… no wonder nothing could be done about it, all the city officials were benefiting from this arrangement, and the organized crime was just as well off. Within moments, they were escorted to one of many tables adorned by a white tablecloth and expensive decor, and Dipper was almost afraid to touch anything. Even the flower vase seemed to be worth more money than he'd seen in his lifetime.

People came and went as they talked to Bill, meanwhile Dipper had lost track of the conversations and how many had approached them. He was distracted by extreme confusion over the undeniable fact that his sense of self was disappearing, and he wanted to panic. He knew he should be freaking out, but it never came because it was as if he'd lost the capability to feel anxious, even if he knew something was wrong. Tongue tied and muscles lagging worse than before, Dipper pulled the gold handkerchief from his pocket— staring at it, blankly as he realized he didn't know what to do with it from here. Was that a part of him? It felt like an extension of his hand.

"Uh, Pine Tree?" Bill's voice was distant. "Everything okay down there?"

When he replied, he almost didn't identify it as his voice. "There's something wrong with my hand." It seemed like he'd said it so long ago and only now the audio was reaching his ears.

"A lack of masturbation does that, cutie. Why'd you take the handkerchief out?"

As Bill took it from him, Dipper's attention snapped back to the issue at hand. "I feel…" he trailed off, at a loss. How  _did_ he feel? He wasn't sick or anxious… but it was like his brain was stuck in a fog. Dipper was convinced he should be fearful, absolutely terrified at how he basically couldn't think straight or pinpoint his own emotions, the latter seemingly dulled until they weren't recognizable. "There's something wrong, and not just with my hand." It was all he could manage.

Bill reached to touch his shoulder, ushering him away from the main crowd to the quieter side of the room. He was pulled close, an arm snaking around his smaller body. Dipper pressed into him, comforted by the embrace and scent of spicy honey. "Nothing is wrong, cutie. Listen to me, okay? You're fine, you're going to remain fine. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you," he murmured, strained, naively, maybe dumbly, too out of it to truly think about that. "It's just weird, everything is  _off_." He didn't know how to find a suitable explanation in a muddled mind, much less sure how he was somehow functioning. "Like a dream."

"You're probably just a little dehydrated," Bill said, having Dipper lean against the wall for support. "I'll go grab you some water, okay? I'll be back in a moment, don't go anywhere."

But he didn't know why he was saying that when Bill had a glass of water in hand. "Hello cutie, did you miss me?"

Dipper blinked. "You were gone?"

"I got you water, don't you remember?"

"Um…" No, he didn't have any recollection of that and had believed Bill was here the entire time.

He was offered the water. "Have some, I'll hold the glass for you. You look a little pale."

With both of their hands on the glass, he tipped it back only to realize nothing was coming out, nor was it pouring into his mouth. Was this some stupid prank of Bill's, giving him an empty glass? Dipper didn't have time to think about that because he was coughing suddenly, spitting up an intense amount of water he hadn't known was in him to begin with.

Bill immediately pulled the glass away, watching him sputter water. "Sugar, you're not supposed to waterboard yourself."

The coughing came to a slow halt, and Bill cleaned excess liquid away with his handkerchief. This is what he'd meant, something was definitely wrong. "Bill, I'm kind of scared." But he wasn't, and he instantly knew it was terrible to lie to Bill about that because he didn't  _feel_ anything, he couldn't even feel his physical properties.

Bill's body shook in a silent chuckle, shaking his handkerchief when he finished wiping Dipper down. "Are you? You seem pretty relaxed."

"I… I think I should be scared," he admitted, "but I'm not."

"You shouldn't be," Bill told him. "You're perfectly safe with me, cutie. I won't let anything happen to you."

And from there, everything was a blur until he was standing near the fountain with Bill and Ivan, or at least he thought it was Ivan, but it wasn't the first gang member they'd talked to that evening. They'd talked to one, two, or maybe fifteen others, but he struggled to remember who it was or what they looked like, most of the interaction seemingly erased.

"...and perhaps we can come to an agreement about his remaining debts." Dipper wasn't listening, too busy staring at his clothes since Ivan's decorated robe looked so much more  _real_ than it had been the first (and only other) time they'd crossed paths, and he felt as if he was truly meeting him.

"You know he'll never pay you back fully," Bill said. "Especially if he keeps robbing fucking gas stations."

"He's not planned anything larger?"

The waves in his vision were new. Unaware that he'd been swaying, Dipper stumbled forward slightly only to retreat to Bill's side in a search for stability. Bringing his arms around Bill, he looked up and felt his jaw go slack in awe. "Oh." Bill was handsome. He could stare at him for ages.

Bill looked at Dipper in confusion. "Why're you staring at me like I'm a Pop-Tart, doll?"

Dipper wanted to tell Bill he was gorgeous. He wanted to tell him to never move just so he could drink in this sight forever. He wanted to say he looked even better now than when he'd been twenty-one years old.

None of that was said because he couldn't figure out how to form words anymore, and it seemed the ability had been temporarily stolen from him.

Ivan spoke staidly, "How is your engagement coming?"

"We're more than  _engaged_ ," Bill answered bluntly, with his gaze remaining on Dipper. "We married last week."

Dazedly, Dipper thought it was amazing how far he and Bill had come in the years they'd known each other. Meeting while he'd been in high school and Bill in college, and dating for years until Bill had proposed. It was nice that he'd found someone so wonderful to share the rest of his life with.

Slipping Bill money, Ivan had replied something but it sounded too distorted to be intelligible, and Dipper didn't understand the exchange yet couldn't bring himself to care. Once Ivan had left the two to themselves, Dipper looked to Bill and murmured, "My life's like a tape recorder." Because Bill waited for him to go on, he did, "Tonight is going so fast and slow, and the scan lines… they're moving differently at the same time, it's unbelievable." The description remained inadequate when it was as if several realities were merging together into one brief timeframe, all at varying levels of speeds.

"Do you mean 'VHS player?'"

"Yes!" he gushed, fawning over how well Bill knew him.

Bill's tone may have been joking, but it was hard for Dipper to tell in his haze. "Maybe you should stop playing with the fast forward settings. "

And Dipper was pretty sure he'd responded to that but couldn't figure out which voice was his among the other guests. His emotions were muted. His senses were at their peak, taking in every detail possible, turning Dipper into a mere sponge for his surroundings.

Dipper was awed by the impressive scenery— impressive to him, anyway. Everything loomed and seemed to be spanning multiple dimensions, it was nothing short of amazing. All he could do was stare with wide eyes at the banquet hall, filled with the bustle of people and classical music in the background.

_"Good evening, it is with great pleasure that I warmly welcome you..."_

The next moment, they were somehow back at the table even though it had to have only been mere seconds since they'd arrived at the event, and Dipper was wondering where his glass of wine had gone, or maybe there hadn't been any wine to begin with. "...it's missing?" the words were slurred, muddled. He must have drank it already, and had somehow downed the glass while he'd been at it.

Dipper guessed he chased the drink with his chair since he couldn't figure out what he was even sitting on anymore, it was like a cloud had appeared under him, soft and comfortable. At this rate, he was going to consume the entire place and its beautiful, impossible geometric shapes creating people and architecture that came to life before his eyes— and oh right, Bill probably wouldn't like that if he acted on his desire.

_"...our grand city, home to so many diverse profiles: billionaires, millionaires, and... those less fortunate."_

The ability to turn his thoughts into speech was fleeting, meanwhile his filter was nonexistent. "Who  _is_ that?" Dipper asked in regards to the speaker, then looked back to Bill only to see him falling out of his seat. "Where are you going?"

He felt strong arms clasp around him, moving him into Bill's lap. "Whoa there, I always knew you wanted to be a cut down Pine Tree but you could've at least yelled timber first. Now shh, cutie. That's Preston Northwest."

The cloud followed under his feet as a ghost of his former self walked the banquet hall with Bill, feeling more like a part of his surroundings—a part of the universe—than a part of himself. But he loved it, every moment. It was a breathtaking experience, watching the world dissemble itself and combine together again in a brilliant display of lights and color that included him in its rebirthing. The sound filling the hall was a wonderful touch too, how the music of the orchestra could be taken apart at its seams, and he felt as if he could analyze each individual component and understand the pattern of the tune, finally colliding into a pleasing arrangement of noise.

_"...distinguished guests, privileged individuals. Seize this opportunity to connect..."_

It was the strangest experience to know Bill was talking to him but making no sense, garbled words spilling from his mouth. And Dipper responded in the same manner, no conscious thought attached to what he said, no recollection of it. But interestingly, it seemed to be intelligible to Bill; they were on the same wavelength even at their most inner core. Having a private discussion that was gibberish, one they could only understand. It was so intimate of an exchange they shared.

"Okay, now  _smile_ ," drawled a man with short brown hair and glasses.

There was a flash. Someone was holding him, coaxing him closer and kissing him. Another flash.

They were back in front of the fountain. Unable to feel where his physical boundaries were, Dipper's weight was sinking so far into Bill that he was expecting to be absorbed by him at any given moment, and when it inevitably happened, it was like watching a movie where he was the camera and the star of the film and Bill all at the same time. Guess he and Bill really were married, they were connected on every level.

_"...and for those present, make the future a financial and personal success that will know no limit in luxuries."_

It was a good thing everybody else seemed to know his name because he certainly had no idea what it was anymore, or who he was. Where he began and the room and the music and the glittering lights ended was a mystery when it was morphing into one superior entity beyond the limitations of reality.

"My parents  _loved_ him," Dipper hadn't realized he was the one speaking. "He had the entire room charmed."

"Interesting," responded a male, voice exuding arrogance. "Color me impressed, Bill. Charming them through less  _practical_ means than the precious dollar, as I know Mayor and Senator Pines would not have appreciated such a display of 'immorality.'" There was a sneer at the end of his sentence.

The room shifted.

"...I would never let my darling Pacifica date one of  _them_. Those types are all the same."

Beside him, Bill chuckled. "It's unfortunate you're pinning me in the same category as the Pines, Northwest. I'm  _far_  wealthier than they are– they didn't even have  _Help_."

He gave an astonished, disgusted gasp. "You're absolutely correct, the Cipher line does not belong with the likes of them."

That awakened a memory in Dipper, and he looked fondly to Bill. "Oh that reminds me of when I met his parents…" His fogged mind couldn't keep up with his mouth."Well, I wish I could be half as charismatic. His father had set up an afternoon of golf, but we… we, uh— what happened again?" The train of thought dissipated as soon as it'd come.

"Instead, we slipped off to break in our new hot tub." Bill playfully nudged Dipper with a wink.

There was a snooty laugh at that, though Dipper had no idea what was funny about the story, or how the following comment was relevant to it: "My, my. If Mason met your parents, perhaps we should investigate you for more than gang-related activity." It was directed at Bill, who seemed to understand.

Bill grinned in response. "What can I say? Everything's legal in Florida, including Mason."

The edges of his perspective blurred. It was the equivalent of walking in a lucid dream presented in the most glorious of technicolors. He was everything and nothing, Bill and not Bill, Dipper himself and everybody else in the room while the inanimate objects melted together. They were one. It created a pleasant unity, a perfect whole. Serenity. Tranquility.

_"And on a final note, thank you for joining us this evening."_

* * *

Everything snapped into focus. With startling clarity that Dipper hadn't felt in who-knew-how-long, he realized he was laying on a bed in a strange room and sat up in a panic, only to feel a flood of dizziness envelope him until he shakily flopped down again. From his brief examination of his surroundings, it seemed he was in a rather nice hotel room. The lighting was dim and soft, but he had no estimate of time aside from 'night.'

"Hey cutie," Bill greeted him from a chair across from the bed. "How'd you sleep?"

"I was asleep?" Dipper questioned, rubbing his head as if that would help rectify his memory of events. It was shockingly blank, and that sent a bolt of panic through him because he seemingly knew  _nothing_ about… anything. Where they were, why they were here, what the time and date was. Never before had he experienced a total blackout like this, where he couldn't recall any significant details. "Can you tell me what happened after…" Dipper tried to remember the last clear fragment of memory and decided on, "...after we were sitting in your car at the Bean Machine? How long ago was that?"

Bill hummed in thought. "Let's see… four or so hours? We went to the party, chatted it up. You were  _amazing_ , Pine Tree. You left quite a positive impression."

Skeptical, he raised an eyebrow. "That… doesn't sound like me. I'm awkward at parties." Social interaction and leaving lasting impressions, both of those were more of Mabel's forte.

"It was you," Bill said. "You're far better than you think, doll. And you seemed to have a good time– enough so you don't remember it!"

"I still don't," Dipper said, anxiously brushing a hand through his hair. "I honestly… don't remember anything." There were bits and pieces beginning to come to him, like the hall itself and some blurry faces, but he couldn't recall socializing, much less being amazing it at.

He shrugged, getting out of the chair to join Dipper on the bed. "You had a lot of wine, I'm not surprised. I had to take it away from you after your fifth glass."

Frowning at that, he sighed. "Geez. I shouldn't have done that." Maybe that was why he was so fun, and it made sense: what Bill said shook a distinct memory involving a wine glass but couldn't recall what happened in it, just that it involved the wine glass. With some curiosity, he said, "I feel totally sober. Are you sure it's only been four hours?" A sensation best described as afterglow still lingered, leaving him with a floating feeling.

And overall, he felt okay. While he was semi-puzzled and wished he had a better grasp on the events of the evening, Dipper was nevertheless doing alright, glad things had gone well according to Bill.

Nonchalantly, Bill said, "Alcohol has a different effect on people. I wasn't sure how you'd be doing, that's why we're here. You should be glad your head doesn't ache like a motherfucker." Dipper was grateful for that, and grateful for how good he felt. It was the polar opposite of what hangovers were supposedly like. Everything he'd read about it made them sound like hell, meanwhile he was on cloud nine.

Attention drifting back to Bill, Dipper scooted closer to press against him and murmur slyly, "Yeah, well I'm not old like you."

Bill lowly grumbled, his arms wrapping around Dipper. "I'm not old, cutie. I'm forever young."

"Oh?" he considered. "That explains why you make stupid decisions, like bringing me to your fancy parties." Since he'd apparently drowned his social awkwardness in alcohol.

"That was far from a stupid decision." Bill bristled beside him, pulling him in tightly. "You did wonderfully."

It was… an odd experience, to feel a spark of giddiness over a compliment from  _Bill,_ but there it was. Dipper lamented, "I just wish I remembered more of it." It was the first positive party experience he'd had, and he didn't even get the joy of knowing what happened aside from Bill's account.

Bill kissed his cheek. "There'll be more of them you're welcomed to."

"Oh my god," he groaned, "please don't let me drink so much next time." If they did attend another, he would be staying sober because waking up like this, with no memory of what happened, had been and still was worrying.

"I won't." Bill laughed. "How're you feeling? We should get back to the penthouse soon."

"Do we have to? I wouldn't mind sleeping here." It wasn't a pressing need, but he did feel slightly tired.

Bill shook his head. "Can't, I have a job first thing in the morning. You can sleep on the way back if you need to."

It was probably for the best. Spending a night at a hotel with his heterosexual life partner wasn't that heterosexual, and it would most likely raise questions about their relationship from Stan and Ford. So he caved with a simple, "I'm guessing that means you're not staying at the penthouse tonight?"

"Nope, sorry Pine Tree. Maybe we can get cozy together when I'm back."

"Yeah, sounds good." After a second of hesitation, Dipper moved to look at him seriously, "You're going to be okay, right?" Although he didn't know what the job was, there was a tiny piece of him that was concerned.

Bill smirked. "I'm the best, so yes. My partners? Probably not, but they're expendable."

Relieved by the reassurance, Dipper teased, "Hey, I thought  _I_ was your partner, especially after going to that event together tonight."

"One of my partners, cutie. But you don't want to be a heist partner– they usually die. I like you too much to sacrifice you."

"Oh," he blushed since it was so unexpectedly wholesome from Bill, stealing a quick kiss as he tried to gather his thoughts, "that's… uh— thanks."

Bill kissed his cheek before he began to pull away, getting up from the bed. "Are you ready to go?"

Following Bill, Dipper rose from the bed to smooth down any wrinkles on his suit, all the while thinking about how he couldn't wait to shed the damn thing, but making himself presentable was key if he wanted to avoid getting potentially grilled about his whereabouts or prying questions about what he'd been doing with Bill. "Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're considering writing a oneshot of the second half of this chapter but from Bill's POV instead, which would provide a clearer albeit possibly more disturbing narrative. Currently on the fence about it, but if that's something you might be interested in reading, let us know?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): some sexual content.
> 
> Next update is Sunday.

Dipper's mind wandered as he doodled in his sketchbook, easily tuning out the sitcom on the television and Mabel's occasional giggle at the corny jokes. He was wedged against her and the cushion of the sofa, comfortable and content, simply letting the night pass them by until they both felt tired enough to go to sleep. It wasn't unusual to be the last ones awake in the penthouse, but it was unusual to be without the third member of their late night trio.

Dipper noted it was quieter without Bill, and that led him to think about what occurred after they'd left the hotel and drove back. The journey was mostly silent aside from the low pop music on the radio, and once he'd been dropped off at the complex, his tiredness gradually ebbed away while he'd made idle conversation with Mabel. Now, he felt more awake than ever. It was a mystery to him how he managed to remain alert this long, but perhaps sleeping in this morning and crashing in a hotel room had been contributors.

And the party… Dipper still wasn't sure what to think of that, wishing he could remember more than faint sensory details or snippets of conversation. Although he'd tried walking himself through it, the practice was hit and miss because sometimes it'd be foggy and muddled, yet other times he'd recover a new, startlingly coherent memory. He  _thought_ he had a good time, and Bill's version of events confirmed that, but it was marred by his inability to recall important details no matter how hard he tried.

A vibration against the sofa had him reaching for his phone, the screen irritatingly luminous in the dim light of the room until he decreased the brightness to read the text without squinting.

 **(12:02 AM)**   _hey cutie_

Dipper hadn't been expecting a text from Bill. After they arrived at the penthouse, he'd departed abruptly with nothing more than a brief kiss and promise that he'd return by tomorrow sometime once his freelance job was finished. But even so, Dipper was happy to hear from him.

 **(12:02 AM)**  Hi, how's your job going?

 **(12:02 AM)**   _fine_

 **(12:02 AM)**   _we've been preparing for it, it hasn't started yet_

Curiosity about the nature of Bill's jobs gnawed at him. While the freelance work was a common occurrence, he'd never been forced to stay overnight somewhere else before, and Dipper couldn't help but ask:

 **(12:02 AM)**  What is it?

 **(12:02 AM)**   _something murderous ;)_

That sent an uneasy shiver through Dipper, and he wished he could be confident that Bill was joking. About to write a reply, he stopped as Mabel leaned over, trying to peek at his text conversation. "Is that Bill?"

The question made Dipper smile sheepishly but he didn't understand why, fighting the urge to move his phone from her view. There was nothing to  _hide,_ really, but it was odd to have her gaze on their exchange. "Yeah," he gave a small laugh, "it's him, but it's not like we text as often as you and Pacifica do." Why he made that comparison, he didn't know but was wishing he'd kept his mouth closed when the implication was an unfortunate one.

Before he knew it, Mabel was lunging at him and snatching his phone away, meanwhile Dipper frantically tried to seize it but couldn't when Mabel swung the phone out of his range of movement. "Hey!" he protested. "Give that back!"

"In a minute!" She was furiously firing away texts, much to Dipper's displeasure, a soft giggle escaping her. That wasn't a good sign.

Still trying to recapture his phone despite her attempts to ward him off, he warned, "You better not be texting Bill!" But she didn't seem to pay any attention, continuing to type. " _Mabel_!" Finally, he was able to retake his phone with a quick grab, looking through the texts she'd sent in the time it'd been confiscated from him. Dipper's face turned bright red.

 **(12:03 AM)**  I love you Bill!

 **(12:04 AM)**  Let's get MARRIED!

 **(12:04 AM)**  And let me have your baebies!

 **(12:04 AM)** This is totally Dipper! To prove it I'll tell you all about some conspiracy theories!

 **(12:04 AM)**  Like the one about how I'm SOO in love with you and that's why we fight all the time <3 <3 <3

"I can't believe you," Dipper groaned, running a hand through his hair. Luckily, he had a chance to rectify the situation before Bill responded to any of those, and he quickly explained what'd happened:

 **(12:04 AM)**  Dude I'm so sorry, that was Mabel

 **(12:05 AM)**  She took my phone and wouldn't give it back

 **(12:05 AM)** _keep telling yourself that cutie ;)_

 **(12:05 AM)** _maybe one day it'll be true_

 **(12:05 AM)**  What the heck, it WAS Mabel

 **(12:06 AM)** _yes, i know it was you, sugar_

 **(12:06 AM)** _i know you meant to write: it was 'mebill'_

 **(12:06 AM)** _as in fuck 'mebill' ;)_

 **(12:06 AM)**  I think you just want to believe I'd say those things to you

 **(12:07 AM)**   _oh i know you will_

 **(12:07 AM)** _you already have ;)_

Confused by that last text, Dipper wondered when that'd happened and was anxious to find out, Bill's 'love ya' haunting him. With some horror, he arrived at the possibility that he'd said or done something to give him the impression that he was interested.

 **(12:07 AM)**  What are you talking about?

 **(12:07 AM)** _i could hardly keep you off me when you got drunk_

 **(12:08 AM)** _didn't think you could get so horny_

Shame washed over him. Dipper wanted to curl into a ball of embarrassment after reading the text, racking his brain for any recollection of that but coming up short, left with nothing but fleeting snapshots of memories. None of which suggested he'd been romantically or sexually pushing himself onto Bill during that time, but he didn't know why Bill would lie about that either.

 **(12:08 AM)**  Oh god

 **(12:08 AM)**  I swear I didn't mean any of that, I don't even remember what I said

 **(12:08 AM)**  I guess I must've acted pretty badly, ugh. This is super embarrassing :(

 **(12:09 AM)** _don't worry about it, cutie_

 **(12:09 AM)** _no harm done_

A flood of relief followed, glad this wouldn't change their relationship since he liked where things were. Hesitating, he realized he wanted to know what exactly he did, wanted to know if it was anything remotely close to Mabel's joking texts. Depending on the answer, Dipper was almost certain he'd be ready to burst into flames from the humiliation of it all.

 **(12:10 AM)**  So what did I say to you?

 **(12:10 AM)**   _you wanted me to fuck you senseless_

 **(12:10 AM)**   _you were basically begging me to take you_

 **(12:10 AM)**  Did anything happen?

It felt like tempting fate to ask that dreaded question, though he couldn't stop now that he'd started. Little by little, he was determined to remember tonight, even if those memories were recreated with the help of Bill.

 **(12:11 AM)**   _nah,_ _nothing happened. your virginity is still intact for now, don't worry ;)_

 **(12:11 AM)**  Okay

 **(12:11 AM)**  Thanks for taking care of me and stuff, that was pretty decent of you I guess

 **(12:12 AM)**   _of course cutie_

 **(12:12 AM)**   _pay me back sometime ;)_

 **(12:12 AM)**  How?

 **(12:12 AM)**   _we'll discuss those details later_

 **(12:13 AM)**  Just tell me

 **(12:13 AM)**   _keep your mouth looking pretty_

 **(12:13 AM)**  We already kiss all the time, that's not much of a payment

 **(12:13 AM)**   _i was referring to a blowjob_

 **(12:13 AM)**  Haven't we talked about how I don't OWE you blowjobs?

Dipper wasn't upset by the request, guessing it was another weird joke of Bill's. And even if it wasn't, he didn't think Bill would enforce this 'payment' unless he demonstrated interest in fulfilling his end of the bargain.

 **(12:14 AM)**   _you'll give in one of these days_

 **(12:14 AM)**  Yeah, if you ask

 **(12:14 AM)**  Not if you keep demanding though

 **(12:14 AM)**   _no_

 **(12:14 AM)**   _you will give in_

 **(12:15 AM)**  I'm not sucking you off if you're going to be an entitled jerk

 **(12:15 AM)**   _i protected your drunk ass at the party, the least you can do is blow my cock_

When it seemed Bill wasn't taking the hint to change his tactic, Dipper locked his phone and set it aside, returning to his drawing pad. Bill could make all the ridiculous demands he wanted, that didn't mean he was going to get anything since he was incapable of kindly asking for whatever he desired. Dipper might be more willing to oblige if he didn't act unbearably conceited about it.

Within minutes, he could hear his phone going off but didn't look at the texts, at least not until they became so insistent that Mabel complained it was distracting to her television-watching experience.

 **(12:17 AM)**   _hey cutie_

 **(12:18 AM)**   _cutie_

 **(12:20 AM)**   _doll_

 **(12:21 AM)**   _don't fucking ignore me_

 **(12:21 AM)**   _i thought we were heterosexual life partners_

 **(12:21 AM)**   _you're being a terrible life partner right now_

 **(12:21 AM)**   _maybe i should replace you with your sister_

Needless to say, he wasn't amused by the spam or the threat to replace him with Mabel, knowing Bill wouldn't act on it despite his claims.

 **(12:22 AM)**  Okay…?

 **(12:22 AM)**  She's happily in a relationship (though I have my doubts you understand what that is) so I don't think she'll go for the friends with benefits thing, but she might be down for a heterosexual life partnership

Without looking up from his phone, Dipper made a face and reported, "Bill's replacing me with you, Mabel."

"Ooh, I should have him buy me kittens! Ten of them! And unleash them on Stan!"

"He's more of a dog person," the response was automatic, a reflex, and that surprised him. When did he start knowing things about Bill? Personal things, like his preferences? Dipper didn't want to think about that too hard. "But you could probably purr-suade him into getting kittens." Not only did he know Bill, but apparently he was  _becoming_ Bill, stupid puns and all.

Mabel looked at him. "You know a  _pawful_  lot about Bill for only being friends, Dippy. Are you sure you don't want to keep him?"

Dipper grinned a little shyly. "He makes me hang out with him, okay?" Kind of. He wasn't  _forcing_ him into anything, but he had a feeling they'd both be lonelier without the other's companionship. "Aside from being heterosexual life partners and kissing every now and then," all the time was more accurate, "there's really nothing going on between us. And… I promise, if that ever changes, you'll be the first person I tell."

"Dipper," Mabel was shaking her head at him, and he could sense where this was going. It was resuming their previous discussion, the one that'd been interrupted by Stan and Ford's fighting. "You need to  _live_ a little. I know you're still upset over our parents, but… they wouldn't want you to dally on it." It was hard not to be burdened by their deaths when it still affected his everyday life, just to a lesser extent than it had nearly a month ago. The nightmares weren't easing up, but the grief had reduced over time— it crashed over him on occasion, bringing him back to a state where he could do nothing but sob and wish it'd turned out differently, but time was subtracting from the severity of those outbursts. "They'd want you to be as gay with Bill as everyone knows you wanna be."

That wasn't his intention. But he knew Mabel was right about their parents, they wouldn't want him to live in a cycle of grief, regret, and sadness. "Thanks," he murmured appreciatively, "but it's… it's complicated. Not just because of them, or what happened, but because of Bill." Dipper tried to explain but struggled for words, "He's done some messed up stuff, and I don't know if I can trust him completely." They hadn't known each other that long, and in the time they did, he'd given him plenty of reasons for distrust to fester. That wasn't even touching on his past.

Before Mabel could say anything, he continued quickly, "And it's not like I'm ready for a romantic relationship with him, or wanting one in the first place. Despite what you may have texted him, I'm not in love with Bill." When it'd seemed Bill possibly loved him, Dipper had fretted over that for days, worried he would expect more than a friends with benefits arrangement in the future, and was glad it hadn't come up so far.

He was tsked at. "Give him a chance, Dippy. Even if he did some fucked up shit, he deserves that courtesy at least. Pucker those lips for your boyfriend, Bro-bro."

"Huh? We're not boyfriends, but we already kiss," Dipper pointed out. "It's not a big deal for us, it's just nice. As for actually dating, I don't know if either of us are in a good place for that." Bill likely didn't want to have a steady relationship— much less one with him, and he felt the same.

"You might kiss, but you don't  _kiss_." Well, he was lost because they had definitely  _kissed_ , and Bill's tongue had an expert knowledge of his mouth by now. "C'mon Dipper, have you even seen his dick?"

He flushed. "Whoa, that's— that's a bit personal," Dipper chuckled nervously, focusing on his drawing again as he tried to determine a suitable answer. He'd always shared everything with Mabel, but sexual experience was perhaps the exception, not that he'd previously had anything to contribute. But considering he'd been witness to Mabel's sex life by inadvertently walking in at the worst possible times, and certainly hadn't wanted to, he'd dodged discussions of that nature.

Mabel hovered close to him. "That didn't answer my question, Dippy! Did you?  _Was it big_?"

Alarmed by the new intensity of the questions, Dipper let out another apprehensive puff of air. It was an attempt at a laugh but fell miserably short. "Um, I still— I don't think we should be talking about…"

"Mabel, Dipper," Ford's voice made him jump. Dipper hadn't been expecting the interruption, under the impression Stan and Ford retreated to their room over an hour ago to sleep for the night. "Your attention, please."

"Oh, uh, hi." Looking over the back of the couch, Dipper noticed the two brothers lingering near the heist whiteboard, and he awkwardly coughed. "How much of that did you hear?"

Mabel beamed. "Did you hear it all? That Dipper and Bill are gay for each other and Dipper has seen Bill's dick but he's clearly too embarrassed to give any of the  _juicy_ details?"

"Really, Mabel?" Dipper said flatly. " _Really?_ "

"I'll deal with Bill later," Stan grumbled, while Ford appeared to be more than a little mortified. Both the brothers were the epitome of a rough night– with sunken eyes, messy hair. Stan was sluggish, a slouch to his stance, whereas Ford looked wiry and stiff. "But that's not what we wanted to talk to ya about right now."

Adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, Ford said, "Ah, yes, we'd like to discuss the upcoming heist, the job facing untimely delays. Stanley and I have come to the decision that it'd be in our best interest to allow the two of you to accompany us later, and you will be placed on lookout duty."

Dipper's eyes went wide, and he high-fived Mabel with a resounding 'yes!' between them, their excited gushing of 'thank you, thank you, thank you' hushed by what Ford said next: " _But_ know this is a temporary solution. You are not a part of the Owls, and should a crew member become available for this heist, they will be taking your place."

Mabel's expression didn't waver. "We won't let you regret this! We'll be the best fake Owls you've ever seen!"

"Yeah, we'll be the most observant lookouts and follow all of your directions perfectly!" Dipper chimed in.

Ford muttered, "I suppose if you do, you're more of an asset to us than Cipher."

"We're goin' over the heist plan in the morning with Soos before we leave," Stan informed them, "Ya better be ready."

Dipper knew they would be, they'd already heard the plan several times each since Stan and Ford had been talking about it for days leading up to this. "We will," he promised excitedly, looking to Mabel with bright eyes. She seemed just as ecstatic over the news.

"Good," Ford replied, "we will see you both then."

* * *

Terrified and gasping, Dipper woke in the midst of anxiety, the familiar choking sensation taking hold with its unrelenting grip, forcing him into a series of injured wheezes as he tried to regain control of his breathing. The disturbing imagery of his nightmare burned fresh in his mind, a mental scar of his trauma.

Trying to focus only on taking deep breaths, he still struggled to do anything but make strained squeaks for air whenever he could manage one, broken noises involuntarily spilling from him. Slowly, his chest felt less like there was a boulder resting on top of it, and more normal, his heart rate coming down as well. The edge of panic lingered, and Dipper was afraid going to sleep would merely make himself vulnerable to a second round of the gore and graphic violence of his imagination.

In the darkness of the penthouse living room, Dipper blindly groped for his phone on the coffee table and finally picked it up with shaky hands.

 **(2:40 AM)**  Another nightmare

It was a text sent to Bill, the one he usually sought comfort from since they slept together. But tonight, Bill wasn't here, and he wasn't even in his bed— it'd felt like an invasion of his space without Bill around to accompany him.

 **(2:41 AM)**   _you ok?_

No, no he wasn't, but he was ashamed to outright admit that. It wasn't real, it was all in his mind yet reduced him to fits of uncontrollable anxiety. He was supposed to be the logical one, but it was so utterly illogical in nature.

 **(2:41 AM)**  Working on it

 **(2:41 AM)**   _are you in my bed?_

 **(2:42 AM)**  No?

 **(2:42 AM)**  Seemed kind of weird without you

His phone buzzed, lighting up with a call from Bill, and he answered with a raspy "hello?" while putting the receiver to his ear.

"Hey cutie," Bill's voice was a low hum. "You should use my bed."

Dipper wasn't against the idea since he liked Bill's bedroom and bed, but thought it was an odd request. "Is that your kink or something?" he asked with a weak, tired laugh. "Would it get you all hot and bothered to know I'm splayed out on your constellation sheets?"

Bill didn't seem to be amused. "My awesome sheets aside, I thought you'd like being in a real bed. Much more comfortable, especially if you have more nightmares."

"Yeah," he agreed on his way to Bill's bed, "I'm going." Once he was there, he climbed onto the soft sheets and shuffled until he was tucked under the covers, feeling slightly better just by the remnants of Bill's scent. Before he realized what he was saying, it had left his mouth: "Oh, it smells like you."

"Don't make this weird, cutie."

"You were demanding a blowjob earlier," Dipper reminded him. "Isn't that making it weird?"

"Nope, that's making it  _fun_."

"Still not doing it until you ask nicely." Similar to the first pleasant kiss they'd shared.

"Don't be difficult about this, doll. You know you want a taste."

"If memory serves, I think you said  _you_ wanted a taste of  _me_." That felt like a long time ago, though it'd only been about two weeks. "Then you were disappointed when I wouldn't let you." And had subsequently threatened death by semi-truck.

"Oh, I got a taste alright. I was correct when I said it tasted best from the lips, cutie."

Dipper playfully mocked him, "Don't make this weird, Bill."

"I'm not. I'm aiming to get a taste of your ass, though."

"What?"

"Ever heard of a rimjob?"

"...Yes," was his hesitant response, then it clicked. " _That's_ what you were referring to? Oh my god." Squirming at the thought, his grip had unconsciously tightened on Bill's bedsheets.

"What? It looks like it'd be a good time."

"Why have you been looking at my ass? I thought it wasn't  _good enough_ for you." But he wasn't annoyed, too entranced by the possibility of—

"Good enough to lick."

Oh.

A tight whine escaped him, " _Bill_." He didn't know whether he wanted him to stop or if he really wanted to know more, but at least this time he wasn't being sexual in the presence of other people as he had with Stan and Ford yesterday.

"What?" It was a low rumble, Bill sounded amused. "I bet your virgin hole is as hairless and smooth as your chest."

The fact that Bill was thinking about this, outright  _fantasizing_ about him, had his cheeks burning, and he gave a cough as he tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation. If he didn't, he had a feeling it'd leave both of them with frustrating desires. "So uh, you were right about your bed… I think I'll sleep better in here."

"You should. Are you going to sleep?"

"Soon, why?" Maybe he would distract himself with a mindless puzzle game on his phone for a while, just to be sure he was calm enough for a peaceful rest.

"Just wanted to know. I'll be around if you need me, doll."

"Will you? You kind of disappeared on me earlier." Dipper wasn't upset or accusatory. It wasn't an issue since he hadn't  _needed_ Bill, but he seemingly dropped off the face of the planet during their text conversation.

" _After_  you betrayed me." He'd  _betrayed_  Bill? That elicited a questioning noise, and he waited for him to go on. "I was hoping you'd care about the loss of your heterosexual life partner but you made it clear you didn't."

Upon realizing Bill  _was_ genuinely upset, Dipper tried to remember the topic they'd been discussing prior to that, and his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" Bill's pitch rose. "You were fine with me attempting to replace you as a partner, then told me it wouldn't work because I 'didn't understand relationships.'"

"That was a little vague on my end," Dipper mused in agreement. "I should have been more specific and said 'loving, committed romantic relationships.'" Those were the type that he didn't think Bill understood, though he seemed to struggle heavily with all types of respectful interaction, regardless of his relationship to the other person. "And you know, just a few hours ago you made it clear that I wasn't your only partner." Granted, those were different types of partners, but he couldn't pass up a chance at antagonizing Bill.

"Do you want to end up dead like those 'other partners?'" Bill's voice had grown sharp, almost cold.

"Why are you threatening me? I thought you wanted me to care about being replaced."

"I'm not  _threatening_  you, Pine Tree. You're the one bringing up the fucking dumbasses who keep dying, so do you want to join them?"

"Not really, but I probably will with or without your intervention." It was relevant with the Owls job on the horizon and while he'd been reassured that it wasn't dangerous, this line of work was inherently risky. It was probably something he should mention to Bill, but given Bill's previous opposition to including him in the Owls' work, Dipper thought it'd be in his best interest to keep it to himself until the job had concluded.

Rolling over on the sheets to reposition, Dipper buried his face into Bill's pillow and inhaled, the faint spicy honey smell still apparent. Softer, he murmured, "I know you're mad at me, but I miss you."

"I…" Bill grew quiet. "I miss you too, Pine Tree."

"I'd miss you more if you weren't my heterosexual life partner."

"Would you?"

"Mm-hmm," he exhaled, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't miss your demands for sexual favors," said demands were probably not connected to being heterosexual life partners, "but yeah, I would actually miss you a lot."

"I don't understand. You should be honored to have my sexual demands directed at you, cutie."

Dipper's eyebrows raised in reaction, though he knew Bill wouldn't be able to see it. "Seriously? Why? ...If you want someone who'll just give in to your demands for blowjobs, that's probably not me." After the issues they'd encountered, he didn't want Bill's expectations to be misaligned with reality when that reality could easily entail no sexual intimacy between them. He had mixed thoughts about having full on sex with Bill, but that was nothing new.

Bill's tone was matter-of-fact. "I'll get you to indulge me, don't worry your sweet stars about that."

"I'm not  _worried_ ," Dipper huffed. "Well, I guess I am kind of worried you'll be annoyed again because I'm not submitting to your misplaced entitlement for a blowjob, or letting our physical stuff escalate."

"Oh, but  _darling_ , you will. Just you wait, you'll be spread open for me in no time."

Sharply inhaling at the wording, he willed his body to relax since it'd somehow become tenser than he remembered. "Bill, be serious. What if we never go beyond kissing?" It was concerning how set Bill seemed on advancing their friends with benefits. If that fell through, Dipper feared he'd become disinterested in him.

"We've already gone beyond that," Bill reminded him. "With the grinding, and the stripping down to just your boxers..."

Of course Bill would be difficult about this conversation. "Okay, what if we never go beyond  _that_?"

"We  _will_. You can't resist my charm, cutie."

"That isn't helping." Repeating that they would advance things, while it may or may not prove true in the future, wasn't sufficient preparation for the instance in which they happened to stay where they were. "Look, I just want to know you're not in this only because you want to fuck me."

"Why does that matter if we're not  _serious_ , sugar? I want to fuck you as a friend."

"I got that, but if our friendship is resting on some shaky… foundation that's comprised solely of you hoping to fuck me someday, that's not going to work." It wasn't even a friendship in that case, it was Bill buttering him up with the intention of sleeping together.

"The foundation is quite hard, doll."

That was definitely a sex joke, and Dipper sighed in exasperation. "You're tiring me." It felt like he was treading water, as he couldn't seem to move this discussion forward and get a real answer out of Bill.

"What do you want, Pine Tree? I already said I wanted to fuck you, but as long as you don't pull a bitchy Red on me we should be square even when we do."

"All I wanted to know was that you didn't think of me as just some prize you have to win, then you can throw away. That's not friendship." But Dipper hardly expected a clear response since it seemed as if Bill was set on dodging the problem, and when he did that, it was impossible to get anything from him. "What did Wendy do to you?"

"She got all offended over me fucking everyone in her family and getting her parents to divorce. Red won't shut up about it." The validity of the statement was questionable, he'd never heard Wendy mention it.

Groaning, Dipper said, "Funny how whenever you're trying to convince me to have sex with you, you follow that up by demonstrating why you're a scumbag. Literally every time."

"Hey, I'm not a scumbag, they consented."

Dipper frowned when that brought back a memory or two, specifically the most recent time they'd attempted to be intimate. "Should I question why you have more respect for Wendy's family members than you do for me?"

"Sapling, don't make me hang up. I was trying to  _help_  you with your nightmare problem and now you're bringing up old wounds."

Bill hadn't been given a chance to prove he'd learned from the experience, so calling them 'old wounds' didn't feel accurate, but he wasn't going to get caught up in the little details of this when it probably had been an unfair comment to make. "Sorry, man. You're right."

"Of course I am. I'm always right. Like I am about how you should let me fuck you."

There was the arrogance making a return, and it was met with a spike of hurt. "So you can get what you want from me and forget I exist?"

"I'm not going to forget you exist, sugar." At that, Dipper relaxed and didn't need to push for any further reassurance that he wouldn't be simply another notch on his bedpost. He knew better than to hang onto Bill's every word as truth, but this was better than nothing. "Why do you keep saying that?"

As if history hadn't proved itself time and time again with Bill talking about hookers and one night stands. "Because it seems like that's all you want from me? I don't know why I wouldn't get that impression when you're always telling me how we'll have sex someday."

"Because we will," Bill insisted. "It'll be glorious."

Flattering, in a way. "I know you've been going through a dry spell lately, but I didn't realize you were this, uh…" Dipper trailed off in a small, embarrassed laugh, "yeah."

"You've made my cock hard quite a bit lately, cutie."

Ignoring the tiny burst of excitement from hearing that, the revelation caught him by surprise and he asked, "What? I— I know there was that one time," or maybe it had been two, definitely two, "I mean two times, but…"

"Well, it adds up when I can't get you out of my damn head."

Innocently taking that at face value, Dipper said, "I know, I miss you too."

"I meant the amount of erections I've gotten at the thought of you, doll."

Blushing hotly, for maybe the first time tonight he was glad Bill wasn't here, or he would probably have some choice words for him over it. Dipper could hear him now: 'Ooh, I see you liked that, cherry' he'd say in a lower tone and he'd be painfully right about that, smirking that dumb smirk, and then Bill would pull him into a kiss. It'd start out innocent enough with their lips slotted together, but inevitably Bill would take it a step beyond that, encouraging his mouth open with his tongue and weaving his arms around his waist—

"Pine Tree? Are you still there?"

Shaken from his daydream, Dipper's mind snapped back to the phone call. "Oh! Uh, yeah, I'm here. Just got distracted by something."

"Am I not interesting enough to you?" Annoyance flared in his voice, and Dipper wondered why this was bothering him so much. Contrary to what he believed, Bill wasn't the centerpiece of his life. "I could hang up and jack off alone."

Making a frustrated noise, he guessed he was going to have to say it, as much as he didn't want to. "I was distracted by you, okay?" Then… then he realized a very important detail. "Wait, did you just say you're jacking off?!" Dipper squealed, alarmed by this new information.

"It's becoming hard to do with how often you're spacing out. Do you want to join me? We can probably come together with how quick you'll be, virgin."

In the midst of his own thoughts, Dipper was curious about how long he'd been at this and hoped it wasn't the reason he'd called him to begin with, but he couldn't deny the appeal in giving himself relief as well after going a period of time without. As far as joining went, he was already convinced but muttered with mock annoyance, "Not if you're going to insult me." What he said about finishing fast was probably true with his lack of experience and age, but Bill didn't need to be brazen about it.

"I'm just being honest, doll." An exaggeratedly huffy sound escaped Dipper. "Are you joining me? We can video call. If not, I'm hanging up."

"Oh?" Dipper questioned, amused by the threat. The anxiety from the nightmare had long passed so he didn't require Bill's comfort, but he'd been enjoying his company… even so, he was kind of intrigued. "I don't feel comfortable with video calling, but I'll still join you if you want." Without Bill physically  _here_ , it wasn't as high pressure or sexually intimate, and provided Bill wouldn't take this as meaning he was ready for more, it'd be fine. Just two people getting off together on the phone, and it was impossible to deny how arousing the thought was when the voice on the other side of the line was Bill's.

"What're you gonna do, cutie? Wiggle out of those pajamas of yours, stroke yourself? Moan for me?"

"Yes— just… just hang on, give me a second." Dipper balanced the phone between the pillow and his ear, lifting his hips to slide his pajama pants down before letting gravity do the rest of the work as the fabric pooled around his ankles. "Okay," Dipper said once he was resituated, inexperience taking its toll. "Um… now what?"

"Use your hand and stroke your dick."

Well, he'd known  _that_ but nevertheless dipped a hand into his boxers, fingers curling around his length while he gave a few tentative strokes. "It's not like I haven't done this before," he said. "I mean, I don't do it often, and never on the phone."

"You should," Bill chuckled, his breathing growing heavier, a realization that sent shivers up Dipper's spine and some blood going south. "I think you'll like it. Keep stroking, honey. I want you stiff as a board."

"Okay." Dipper did as asked without protest, shuffling so he could spread his legs a bit more and continue touching himself, a slow pleasure beginning to build. When he spoke again, his voice was a breathless murmur, "Feels weird doing this on your bed. It's going to… to make a mess." Mostly on himself, but the sheets were next.

"Make all the mess you want," Bill quietly responded. "Paint my sheets with your pleasure." Dipper's breath caught, the words getting to him in a way he didn't know was possible. "Already stole your breath away, cutie?" Bill teased. "Like I said, you should do this more. Especially on my bed."

Dipper figured this was more of a one-time arrangement. It was odd enough to jack off in someone else's bed, and masturbating wasn't really something he engaged in due to a lack of interest most of the time. About to share his reservations with Bill, he started, "I don't think—"

"It's a fine idea, cutie. Really, do it more. Preferably in front of me."

The mere idea elicited a small pulse of arousal, but… "Yeah, I'm not doing that."

"You will and you'll  _like_  it." As much as he tried to deny it, that turned the small pulse into an overwhelming rush of lust. Trying to push that away, he figured Bill was going to be a dick about this, and the attempt at a commandeering tone made Dipper roll his eyes even if Bill couldn't see it. "Whatever you say,  _sir_ ," he said mockingly, but Bill's voice, exuding confidence and authority, had him melting into the sheets with subdued gasps and sighs.

To his surprise, Bill's breath hitched. "Stars,  _Mason_." And there was the familiar jolt of pleasure, hearing Bill say his name like that. "You really know how to go straight to my dick."

"Likewise," he mumbled, suppressing a sharp noise since the movements of his hand quickened. "So you like that?"

"Y-yeah, I fucking  _do_. You should do that more often."

Hearing Bill so undeniably worked up—flustered by something he'd said, for a change—was getting to him, fanning the flames deep inside the pit of his belly. And he'd be damned if he wouldn't do the same for Bill, so he managed, "A-anything for you, sir."

With a grunt of pleasure, Bill demanded, "Finger yourself,  _M-Mason_. Work your ass open for me with y-your fingers. There's lube in my nightstand."

"Oh god,  _Bill…_ " he moaned at the lewdness of the request, which Dipper was happy to comply to. Temporarily stopping the movement of his hand, he rolled onto his side and threw open the drawer of the nightstand to rummage for the lubricant, but instead grabbed something that made him pause.

Even in the darkness, he could see it was an empty pill bottle. Curiosity and surprise overtaking him, all thoughts of arousal disappeared from Dipper's mind as he flicked on the lamp to read the label, noting it was an extremely expired prescription of Bill's. "Why do you have medication? ...Wait, citalopram?" A medication known to help with controlling mood swings. "Are you bipolar?"

"... No. Weren't you getting lube?"

"Well, yeah, that's how I found this." Dipper turned the bottle over in his hand, trying to read what he could. "Can't we talk about it?" Not the best time, but it was an important aspect of Bill's life that he hadn't even been aware of until now, and it was worthy of distress— the fact he had medication that he seemed to be ignoring entirely.

"I'd rather go back to what we were doing, Pine Tree. We  _could_  talk about it, or we could have sex. Sex is better."

Admittedly, it probably would be better than this conversation, but Dipper wasn't going to budge because this wasn't something they could just ignore. They had to talk about it. "Please, Bill. Tell me why you have this."

"Can't we just… not?" Bill sounded almost resigned. "I want to go back to the phone sex, Pine Tree. Don't ruin this."

The defeated tone made Dipper want to apologize for bringing this up but he held his tongue, believing it would be nonsensical to apologize when he'd done nothing wrong. "Do you want to hang up, and call me back when you're finished?" Dipper hadn't aimed to ruin this for either of them, but he couldn't get back into the mood. "I, uh.. I don't think I can continue." Already, he had redressed himself and abandoned all hopes of a fulfilling sexual experience in light of this discovery.

On the other end of the call, he could hear Bill growl in frustration. "I fucking hate that damn medication. It continues to kill my sex life even without any pills left. Fuck it all."

Dipper didn't know what he'd expected when the seriousness of the situation hadn't mixed well with their phone sex. "If you're not going to hang up, can you explain this?" Dipper was still examining the bottle, trying to hunt for identifying information but was coming up short.

"It's not for Bipolar…" Bill was hesitating, like he didn't want to say. "It's for Borderline Personality Disorder."

Dipper placed Bill on speaker phone but kept the volume low, beginning to search the internet for information on Borderline Personality Disorder. "When did you get the prescription?" The date was still concerning, as it suggested the last time it'd been refilled was years ago, before they'd even crossed paths the first time.

"Don't remember. Don't care. I'm not taking it again."

"Why not?" The worry was apparent in his voice, but he was still trying to juggle his search for details about the disorder. The intense moods, unstable relationships, extreme patterns of thinking, aversion to being alone… Risky behaviors. The tendencies seemed incredibly familiar.

"I don't need it. My sex drive has served me better."

"Is that seriously the only reason you stopped taking your medication?" Dipper asked, slightly horrified by that as well as questioning why the medication was completely gone if that was the reason. "Bill, you can't… just quit taking it if it's for your health. Don't you need this?"

"Nah, I haven't needed it in years. I'm fine without it."

"What about switching medications?" he suggested. "Not all of them are going to kill your sex drive."

"Why are you trying to drug me?"

He could've smacked his forehead in frustration. "I want to make sure you're making healthy choices, and being responsible by taking your  _medication_ isn't optional. It was prescribed for a reason."

"Yeah, well why don't  _you_  take SSRIs for your nightmares?" Bill's tone was one of accusation. "I think you need to get help for your, what, PTSD?" Dipper bristled at that, guard coming up. "Before you go after me for something I have a handle on."

"I don't have PTSD," he argued, "and they're  _just_ nightmares." No, they weren't. They really weren't, they were so real and terrifying and threw him into the merciless grips of anxiety. And he knew that. "I don't need to take medication for stupid bad dreams." It'd go away on its own, it was only a side effect of the recent, devastating deaths in his life.

"You have fucking panic attacks, Pine Tree. Get some fucking help."

Maybe it was a bit more difficult—impossible, he bitterly told himself but blocked the thought out—to rein in his anxiety nowadays, the problem significantly worse after his parents' passing. Dipper wasn't about to give Bill the satisfaction of knowing that. "I get nervous! And it's hard to control, it's not…" shaking the thought away, Dipper reaffirmed coldly, "I don't need help."

"If you can't control it, you need help. If you don't want to get it yourself, I'll get it for you."

"What?" his question was sharp, fully alert. He didn't want help. He didn't need help. His mind was racing. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to get you some medication, relax cutie."

Dipper began to sputter, "B-but how? And… and  _why_? I don't— I'm— I'm perfectly fine. I've already told you, I don't need medication for nightmares, and it's not like I'm an anxious wreck or anything."

"You're such a mess, sugar."

Bill could get him medication, but that didn't equate to him taking it because he wasn't going to, not when there was no reason to be medicated. Dipper asked, "If you believe in medication helping, why don't you get your prescription changed and take it regularly?"

"I believe it'll help you, doll. Never said it'd help me."

"Just because you believe it'll help me doesn't mean it will."

"Oh, but it will. It's you, doll."

That didn't make sense. "You're not trained in psychiatry, and honestly, that's probably what your doctor thought too. Since it was prescribed, your doctor must have thought it'd work for you, but look where that ended up."

"You don't have a choice, Pine Tree. You're taking them." A click later, and the call was over.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): strong language, impulsive/threatening behavior.

As the plan for the heist wrapped up, Mabel and Dipper stood together in front of the whiteboard while they were given last reminders and tips from Ford. "Remember to keep your phones off, or leave them here," he told them, looking over both, seemingly taking measurements mentally. "And before you ask, simply silencing your devices is not sufficient. They must be off."

Dipper didn't have to worry about that, planning on leaving his phone where it laid forgotten a few feet from where they stood: on the coffee table. He wasn't expecting calls or texts, knowing Bill was busy with his own work, and the other people who would potentially contact him were going to be on the heist as well.

After receiving nods to show they understood, he went on to instruct, "Stanley, grab the extra vests. Mabel can be fitted with the heavier one." It wasn't a surprise, Stan and Ford had been fussing about his weight for most of the morning— it turned out that he wasn't underweight, but he was "too close for comfort" as Ford had put it, and therefore it'd been determined that he'd be carrying the least gear. Regarding them, Ford explained, "While we don't expect anything will go awry, the vests should offer additional protection in the case that it does."

Beside him, Mabel fidgeted in her place as Stan briefly left to retrieve the vests. "Are we getting guns?" she demanded to know. "I want a gun!" Although in admiration of her ambition, her enthusiasm over potentially carrying a firearm wasn't shared by Dipper.

At that, Ford appeared mildly horrified and replied, "Absolutely not. Neither of you have proper training, and it would be more of a hazard than a benefit to us. As lookouts, you'll have very little need for a weapon, especially as I'll be stationed on higher ground with a sniper rifle." Surely that would disappoint Mabel, but Dipper found himself facing the opposite reaction when relief flooded over him. He hadn't wanted to shoot anybody, though it left him with very little personal protection; his safety would be reliant on Ford, which was a better option than putting it in his own hands.

"Oh, dude! Don't feel bad," Soos chuckled, patting the top of Mabel's head. "I had to beg Stan for a gun this time too, and he just barely let  _me_ have one."

Mabel's expression melted into dissatisfaction, and Stan quietly spoke to her as he returned with the combat vests, both emptied of ammunition. "Don't worry too much, sweetie. If we have ya on another heist, we'll get you a gun– we just don't have the time right now to teach ya how to use it."

"Why can't we be taught  _now_? I wanna go  _pow pow pow_  and take out some baddies! Not Pacifica's dad… will he be there?"

"I like your spirit, kid!" Stan thumped her on the back in encouragement.

In response to Preston Northwest being there, Ford said, "I certainly hope not."

"Jeez, Mabel," Dipper commented, thinking about that. He'd known she was determined to prove herself, but not to the extent where she was ready to fully embrace this gangster lifestyle by outright shooting people.

Stan didn't give Mabel a chance to reply. "Alright, enough chit-chat. We gotta get these on ya and go." He handed the vests over to both of them, and moved to assist Mabel in securing the vest to her body.

Holding it in front of him, he realized it was one piece—the body armor and chest rig were combined—which was unlike the rest of the crew's. "Why are these vests different?"

"You're not carrying supplies–" Stan had begun to speak.

Soos motioned to his own, announcing, "I'm a pack mule!" And it was a fairly accurate statement metaphorically, he was carrying quite a bit. Ammunition, first aid supplies, emergency flares, a small light, a GPS device, and binoculars. Looking to Ford, Dipper noted he had many of the same items, but in addition carried a pen and notebook, as well as a two-way radio.

In a way, he felt bad about his lean figure since it prevented him from toting supplies for the rest of the group. Even Mabel, as she adjusted her vest, was getting handed various items to stow in the pockets.

Dejectedly, Dipper slipped into the combat vest he'd been provided but after a few seconds of readjustment, some of his previous envy vanished. The material was heavier than he'd expected it to be, his shoulders already aching from the effort of holding it up.

Mabel puffed up her chest, showing off her gear and the minimal supplies they gave to her for storage purposes. "I'm buff, Dipper!"

Soos apparently noticed how left out he looked, and handed him his own emergency flare to keep. "I got your back."

"You will also both be requiring these," Ford said, extending gloves and binoculars to him and Mabel. "When you're on lookout duty, I highly suggest using them because the more time you allow us to prepare for potential visitors, the better this will go." Grabbing a nearby rucksack that seemed to be pre-packed with supplies since the thick cloth bulged out at odd angles, Ford turned to Stan and Soos. "Locate your helmets and bring the headsets to the vehicle when you are ready."

Motioning for the twins to follow him, Ford led them from the penthouse to the garage but didn't stop there, bringing him and Mabel through an alleyway where a car was parked, waiting. Retrieving the two-way radio from his vest, Ford messed with the channel selector, then adjusted the volume before pressing down on the button. "Six Fingers here, Glasses… come in. Over."

A voice with a gentle Southern twang responded, "I hear ya, Six Fingers. Over."

Dipper raised an eyebrow at the names but didn't question it yet, instead shooting Mabel a puzzled look that was promptly returned when it seemed she'd been confused by them as well.

"Status on the security systems? Over." The security systems… Dipper realized he must be talking to McGucket, the name that kept getting tossed around whenever the hacking portion of the heist was discussed.

"Down in thirty minutes. Y'all be careful out there now, y'hear? Over."

"Of course. I'll check in again when we've arrived. Over and out."

Scuffing his feet on the sidewalk, Dipper nervously readjusted the vest as he waited for Stan and Soos to arrive. Mabel stood beside him, cocking her head at Ford. "What's with the names? You're sounding like Bill!"

"The names…? Oh," recognition lit on Ford's features, "right. I suppose nobody has thought to mention it before, as it's rather common knowledge that we use codenames during heists for identity protection. While our communication lines are secure, there's never a guarantee."

That made sense, and Dipper eagerly asked, "What are our codenames?"

The question appeared to momentarily stump Ford as he peered between him and Mabel, a hum of thought escaping. "Ah, well.. I believe Bill has been calling you two 'Pine Tree' and 'Shooting Star.' Would that be agreeable?"

Mabel giggled at her nickname, beaming, and Dipper nodded his assent. Then, he noticed something. "Wait, Bill doesn't use a codename?"

"Not anymore," Ford muttered, averting his narrowed gaze. "Against our wishes, but it's ultimately his life and criminal record on the line."

"Is it because he wants the attention on him?" Mabel inquired. "I like publicity too!" If he had to guess why Bill no longer used a codename, Dipper would back the publicity theory. Bill was the type to enjoy everybody's eyes on him, and on multiple occasions he had boasted about his highly infamous status.

Stan emerged from the backdoor of the building, eyes on Mabel, while Soos followed after him as he tried to balance a handful of headsets. "You're not getting any publicity today. Ya need to be an official member of the crew and prepared for a criminal record for life. You're not, sweetie."

Before Mabel could protest, Soos cut in, "Guess who brought headsets!" He set them on the trunk of the car, and Ford grabbed two to hand to him and Mabel, one for himself.

"Place them like this," he said as he demonstrated, adjusting it, "but don't turn them on quite yet."

Mabel followed suit, sliding the headset onto her head and shifting it so her hair partially concealed the metal of the device. "Does it look good? I wanna look fabulous in it!"

After putting on his own, Soos gave her a grin and two thumbs up. "Lookin' good, dude! You're totally rockin' that headset, I wish I could be that stylish."

Too distracted to reply, Dipper's attempt was less successful though he was certain he'd followed his demonstration perfectly, but Ford had just made it look so easy to glide on. It tangled in his hair, uncomfortably poked at his ear, and he was simultaneously relieved and embarrassed when Ford saved him the trouble by simply fixing it for him.

"Now then," Ford clapped to grab their attention, "shall we depart? We have approximately twenty-five minutes until the security is down, barely enough time to get there."

"We better," Stan responded. "We're going with or without ya, so hop in the car. I have some more instructions once we're on the road. Better listen closely, or I'll have to kick your ass." Whether or not he was serious didn't matter to Dipper, he gulped anyway since he knew how intimidating Stan could be as he piled into the backseat with Soos and Mabel, meanwhile Stan took the driver's seat with Ford beside him.

The click of seatbelts filled the air, and there was a warning directed at Stan from Ford, "I would appreciate it if you'd abide by the traffic laws, Fez. Getting stopped by law enforcement would be the end of this already-problematic mission."

Stan dismissed him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey kids, listen the fuck up. Those headsets your wearin' are the only form of communication you'll be getting on this heist. Cell phones ain't an option, can't have 'em possibly trackin' us– and ya better not turn those radios off under any circumstances during the mission. Not this mission, or any other mission. Ya got that?"

Mabel's response was an enthusiastic, "Yeah!"

"Yes," Dipper confirmed, fiddling anxiously with the headset but not turning it on, since he hadn't been given the command to do so. He didn't want to mess this up, it was a chance to show Stan and Ford that they could be useful members of the crew depending on how this went, and he didn't want to leave a bad impression. Mabel was counting on him too, so he'd feel terrible if he ruined this.

"Yes, Mr. Stan sir! I mean, I knew that— but still!"

Stan let out a grunt of annoyance. "Wasn't talking to you, Question Mark. Now don't call me that. We're on a fucking heist, codename me."

"Left at the upcoming intersection," Ford said to Stan, his attention on some sort of device. Probably a GPS unit. "Avoid busy roads."

Stan took the left when it came up, glancing back at them. "Another thing, we got some code words if shit goes wrong. That's the cue to get out and scram to our safehouse, in the country."

Dipper recalled Bill mentioned a house near Paleto Bay. "Do you all have places in the country? And uh, what if we have to go there?" Concerned, he glanced at Mabel but continued speaking, "...Shooting Star and I don't know where it is." It felt weird to call Mabel by a codename, but he was determined to be good at this… or at least not absolutely atrocious.

"We're using my old place for this. It's closer, more secluded, and not many people know about it." A pause. "I'll give ya the address. If shit goes wrong, you can probably slip out and get a taxi to go most of the way– have 'em stop a street or so down and walk, you'll be fine. We'll load ya with cash so nothing's tied to the ride."

Dipper frowned, gaze sliding down at himself. A bullet-resistant, combat vest didn't scream 'innocuous citizen engaging in totally legal activities.' "Wouldn't the driver or bystanders get suspicious? I'm not exactly dressed like an everyday person would be."

"It's Los Santos, they're used to it. Just don't do anythin' to bring attention to yourself."

"And the codewords," Ford prompted Stan. "Although it is unlikely they'll be required on this job, Pine Tree and Shooting Star should still be aware of them."

"Right, right. We have a few you should know. 'Pomegranate' is abort the mission, 'mango' is caution 'cause some dickwad is approaching, and 'avocado' is everything's good. Ya got that, kids?" Dipper was very aware of the pattern— all codewords were fruit, though he didn't know why. 'Pomegranate' or 'mango' weren't the most heroic last words.

"Got it," they replied in unison, followed by Mabel's laughter as she realized they'd said it together. Her joy was contagious, and Dipper grinned at her despite his nerves.

The drive lasted for about twenty minutes after that, Stan and Soos taking turns giving various bits and pieces of advice, some of their wisdom more helpful than the rest. Because while keeping an individual first-aid kit on their person at all times was a solid tip, Stan's suggestion to 'avoid dying to the damn pigs' was not.

They were parked a decent distance away from the military base. Pacing and trying to ignore the weight of the vest, Dipper felt like he could hardly breathe as he waited for the others to fully prepare. Stan and Soos were lingering near the trunk and loading up on firearms, meanwhile Ford was on the two way radio with McGucket to confirm the systems were down.

Once he had said confirmation, Ford turned to him and Mabel, addressing them, "Pine Tree, Shooting Star. You'll be split up for this mission." Upon seeing their alarmed glance to one another, Ford cleared his throat to retrieve their attention. "As it would be senseless to place our lookouts in one location when covering two is a viable option."

Stan grumbled. "Ya better not blow your cover tryna talk to each other."

"We won't," Dipper sighed, peering a bit sadly to Mabel. "I'll miss you. Just… stay safe?"

Mabel threw her arms around him, and Dipper did the same, leaning into the embrace. "You too, Dippy Bro-bro!"

"Codenames, remember?" Dipper murmured to her before pulling back, giving her a soft look before returning his focus to Stan and Ford, awaiting further direction, only to see Stan giving Ford a critical, pointed stare. Ford was frowning, unamused. Neither were backing down. Dipper didn't really understand the silent exchange between them, at least not until Ford said:

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Fine." And then they were hugging for just a moment, separated the next like ends of magnets that happened to get too close, both unable to make eye contact with the other.

Stan coughed, shuffling away from Ford. "Alright kids, let's roll out. Turn your headsets on."

"Yes!" Soos pumped his fist in victory, falling in line after Stan as he began to lead the way toward the property of the military base. There was a fence surrounding the large, concrete building, luckily without barbed wire along the top. "You dudes ready to do some climbing?"

Dipper grimaced slightly but guessed he had no choice, as the chain-link fence loomed before the group. Stan didn't hesitate, almost throwing himself at the barrier as he grabbed it and shimmied up, the metal swaying under his weight. Soos struggled a bit but launched himself over, the impact resounding with a low  _thud_.

Ford motioned to him and Mabel, indicating it was their turn. Mabel followed close to Stan's example, eagerly getting a footing on the links and rapidly ascending. Dipper closed his eyes for a second in an attempt to calm himself, then climbed the metal wire, hooking his foot into the loops until he could swing his body around the other side of the fence. Although Mabel had already landed gracefully, it looked like a sizeable fall, and he tried to slowly ease down again but was forced to drop the rest of the way. Landing with a small stagger, Dipper regained his balance and soon Ford joined the rest of the crew.

"Are ya okay, kid?" Stan gruffly asked in a lowered voice, looking to his leg.

Dipper nodded. It hurt from how he'd clumsily launched from the fence, but it wasn't going to stop him.

Quietly, they made their way across the base, keeping low and in the shadows to avoid detection. It didn't take long for them to reach their destination and split off, heading to the designated positions. Dipper was familiar with the layout, having various diagrams burned into his memory this morning.

"I'm on the roof," Ford reported over the radio, sounding slightly strained as if he'd recently been exerting himself. "Check in, Fez and Question Mark."

"Avocado!" It was Soos' voice, flooded with determination. "We're ready to go in."

Ford continued, "Shooting Star."

"Avocado!" Mabel's excited voice crackled on the radio.

"And Pine Tree?"

"Avocado," Dipper said, keeping his volume lowered despite the lack of people around. Being stationed at the back entrance to the base was probably going to be an uninteresting experience, but he didn't have an issue with that, preferring it over a chaotic or potentially dangerous heist. He was more worried about Mabel, being at the front — but then again, she would have Ford's sniping protection and attention, so he could take care of it if anything came up.

Using his binoculars, he scanned the area but found it completely deserted. It was supposed to be a quiet day, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Through his earpiece, he could hear Soos and Stan conversing as they navigated the base, seemingly reaching their targeted area after a surprisingly short few minutes. And best of all, they'd gone undetected.

"What file does Rico want his grubby hands on again?" Stan asked over the communication line, followed by Ford reminding him of the identifying details, then the noise of rustling and file cabinets clinking.

He yearned to talk to Mabel, just to make sure everything was okay, but knew it wouldn't be appreciated if he confused everybody with an unnecessary conversation.

Soos spoke next, "Found it, Fez! Over here— is that the right one?"

"Be completely certain it's the correct one," Ford warned. "If we give Rico something other than what he's asking for…" he didn't continue, but the implication was clear without being explicitly stated.

Dipper tried to avoid getting too caught up in the discussion that didn't involve him, forcing his eyes to continuously sweep the premises. He was a lookout and had to pay attention, but he realized he'd been spacing off again, too intrigued by the voices over the headset. He reminded himself he had a job to do, and if he messed up, it could be their lives (and a potential future) on the line.

"It's right," Stan answered after a second. "It's gotta be. We're headin' out with it now."

"Good. We'll collect photographic proof in the car."

Dipper tuned out the rest of what they said, as most of it was Ford trying to help the two navigate their way through the base without running into any issues now that they were in possession of the file. When the two were nearing the exit, Ford inquired, "Shooting Star, are you there?"

Her response was almost immediate. "Yep!" Dipper felt a rush of relief, Mabel was okay. It was irrational to think something had happened, but the fear lingered regardless.

"I'll be heading down from the roof in a moment," there were some shuffling sounds in the background, "since Fez and Question Mark are almost to Pine Tree. I'll come get you, and we'll head to the back together."

Like Ford had said, Soos and Stan came up behind him through the entrance, and at Stan's request, they waited until both Ford and Mabel had arrived before stealthily moving across the base, leaving through a different direction than the one they'd come in. Getting over the fence wasn't a problem, though his leg and shoulders still ached.

They packed into the car and rushed from the military base, getting back onto a main road with ease as they drove toward the drop off point. Ford relayed the details of the mission's success to McGucket, assuring him everything had gone well and the security systems hadn't gone off.

Once they'd reached their destination, Stan unceremoniously parked the car and turned to Soos, who held the file. "This is your stop. Get goin'."

"Yessir, Mr. Stan sir!" The expression he received was one of anger, and Soos let out a small, nervous chuckle as he exited the vehicle with the file. Stan hit the gas, leaving him stranded in the shady neighborhood while the rest of them sped toward the penthouse, all traffic laws seemingly out the window now that they weren't facing a potentially-ruined heist.

"What did you think, bro-bro?" Mabel asked, turning to him.

"It was... " shockingly not that bad, kind of dull but he'd liked that aspect because it meant they hadn't been in a life-threatening situation at any point. "Okay, actually. It was okay." Dipper wouldn't mind doing this again, if Stan and Ford would let them.

Though he couldn't stop himself from chuckling at her take on it: "I thought it was boring. Nothing happened!"

* * *

Well, that had been a fucking shitstorm if Bill ever saw one. Everything had gone wrong– someone had tipped off the cops, probably Thompson, and the police had been waiting in ambush. The mayor had gotten away without a scratch and the Ravagers scattered as they tried to avoid the heat. Bill had lost the cops almost instantly and made it to the headquarters without an issue, but he'd forfeited a portion of his day to waiting on the dumbasses' arrival, assuming they didn't get their faces shot off.

It wouldn't have been a surprise if they had with the stunt they'd pulled. They tried to whack the mayor and almost the entire police force was on the hunt for them. If Preston wasn't in Bill's pocket, he'd probably have had a rougher time escaping. While he waited, he decided to check in with Pine Tree, partially out of boredom.

 **(3:07 PM)**  hey cutie

 **(3:08 PM)**  cutie

 **(3:09 PM)**  sweetcheeks?

 **(3:10 PM)** PAY ATTENTION TO ME

After several minutes of no response, Bill furrowed his eyebrows. Why was Dipper ignoring him? He never ignored him, he was Bill. Was this about the medication? Stars, if he knew trying to get Dipper some help would result in getting the cold shoulder, he wouldn't have bothered.

When the three muskadumbasses assembled, they had to do the whole, snore-worthy song and dance of debriefing before he could leave and be on his way. Bill wanted to know what was keeping Dipper, why he refused to reply. He didn't give two shits about how the job failed, they had lost their chance and they couldn't recover from that.

The second Robbie shut his yap and Bill was free to slip away, he seized the opening, leaving the building and getting in his car. Pulling out of the lot, it took him only minutes to drive to the penthouse. Traffic laws could kiss his ass, he had a Pine Tree to interrogate for ignoring him.

Entering the garage and going upstairs and into the penthouse, Bill caught sight of Dipper passed out on the couch, a small bag of ice on his elevated-by-the-armrest knee. Mabel was sitting beside him. Her phone was in her hands, typing away– probably sexting Pacifica. Stan and Ford were by their whiteboard, lost in their own discussion. Bill didn't care about them, he was more focused on Dipper and his injury, his previous frustrations forgotten. Mabel finally seemed to have noticed him, nudging her brother with an excited whisper. "Your boyfriend's here, Bro-bro!" Nope, not boyfriends. Heterosexual life partners. Get it right.

Dipper stirred, tiredly blinking to wait for his eyes to adjust in the afternoon light of the penthouse. Sitting up slowly, probably to avoid disturbing the ice on his knee, he peered over the back of the sofa and settled his curious attention on him, then gave a laugh. "Oh, that's not my boyfriend. That's just Bill. By the way, how did your job go?"

"Got the guy," he lied, covering his tracks in case the media had reported on it. "And if the shoe fits, cutie, pucker those lips." Bill crossed the room to join them, eyes on Dipper's knee as he ushered Mabel aside, taking her spot beside Dipper. "What happened? Are you okay, doll?" He wasn't… concerned, okay. He just needed to make sure his  _heterosexual life partner_  wasn't too beat up. Definitely not concerned.

"Yeah, I just landed wrong." Dipper shrugged nonchalantly, lowering himself to resume laying on the couch, but kept his gaze on Bill. "Stan wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to ice it."

"Is it swollen or anything?" A bruise was hardly a cause for concern, but if they did anything later Bill didn't want to hurt him further.

"No, I don't think so." Dipper looked to his leg then back to him, smiling faintly. "You don't have to be concerned about it. I'm not some fragile flower, Bill."

On the contrary. Dipper was a precious rose that could be easily crushed, and Bill was willing to be the one that protected him. He leaned over Dipper to examine his knee himself, before he pulled back. "You'll probably live, it looks like it'll only bruise your petal."

"How do you know? Sure, you're a doctor, but you're a doctor of  _stars_."

"I'm more of a doctor than you are, Pine Rose." And he kind of looked like a rose too, the way he seemed to have acquired a pink tint to his usually-pallid cheeks. "Look at you, your cheeks are blooming, doll."

Dipper's eyes darted, and he muttered, "I was sleeping, and it's warm in here."

"Uh huh, something tells me you like being called a rose. A blossoming little flower." There was a low hum to his words as Bill ran his fingers along Dipper's neck, watching in satisfaction when Dipper closed his eyes, visibly enjoying the attention. He was cute when he was so compliant.

Keeping his eyes closed, Dipper laughed a little, the color on his cheeks deepening into a lovely shade of crimson. "The blossoming little flower part sounds more like a euphemism used in cheap erotica."

He wasn't wrong. "Have you been reading  _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , cutie? Although I wouldn't call that shitty abuse-fest erotic."

Peeking an eye open, Dipper said, "You're kind of abusive too, at times."

"What?" No he wasn't, he was a  **perfect gentleman**. "Don't be crazy, doll. I'm not abusive in the slightest."

The way he stared through a skeptical gaze suggested Dipper wanted to continue this conversation, but at last he shook his head. "We can talk about that some other time. Not in front of…" he made a half-hearted motion toward Mabel, and where Stan and Ford sat at the table.

Bill narrowed his eyes at him. Did he seriously think he was abusive? He wasn't, he couldn't be, he was  _Bill_. That automatically made him non-abusive. How could Dipper accuse him of being so? He was the best. And that wasn't at being abusive. "Oh, we  _will_  be talking about this later. You need to… explain yourself." And be corrected.

There was the sound of a chair sliding, and Ford walked over to the sofa to examine Dipper's leg. "It seems to be doing fine, Stanley," he reported to his brother, bringing Bill to realize that was what they'd been grumbling about. "No need for excessive worry over a mild injury. He's young and spry, he'll heal quickly."

"Yeah, it's fine," Dipper confirmed, looking between the two. "It hardly hurts anymore."

"He better be fine," Stan said. "I can't believe ya got that from fallin' off a fence."

"You fell off a fence?" he demanded, suddenly alert with his intense attention on Dipper. "What the hell were you doing?" He couldn't think of any feasible reason as to why Dipper would be on a fence.

"I didn't  _fall_ off the fence," he corrected, a slightly defensive huff to his words. "I was on the fence, and then I landed awkwardly, that was all."

Shrewdly, he noticed Dipper didn't answer the second half of his question. "What were you doing?" he repeated forcibly, frustrated. "You never struck me as the type of kid to go climbing around fences willy-nilly."

Dipper raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do. Didn't we already establish that I'm not a fragile flower? ...But uh, Stan and Ford needed people for the heist, so Mabel and I did it."

"You did  _what_?" Bill recoiled in shock, betrayal and hurt igniting inside him. How could they replace him? Especially with  _Pine Tree_ and  _Shooting Star_? It was…  _insane_ , ridiculous. Were they lying? They'd better be lying.

Somehow startled by Bill's situationally-appropriate reaction, Dipper blinked in surprise. "We did the job, the one you and Wendy couldn't do since it was moved? Why is that a problem?"

They weren't lying. "Why is it a problem?" Bill's voice grew with anger, meanwhile Dipper looked both confused and perhaps a pinch afraid by the strength of his opinion on this. "Oh, I don't fucking know. Maybe it's because since you've come here, I've had the 'you're leaving', 'stay away from them Bill', 'seriously stay away from them', 'we're not keeping them' fucking  _hammered into me_ –"

"Language, Cipher," Ford's voice was sharp. "Consider the possibility that our requests you stay away were not entirely because we don't want them leaving with a criminal record."

"Being associated with me is less of a risk than you taking two inexperienced kids into a fucking  _military base_  to  _steal from the government_. Did it ever sink into your thick skull that they could've been killed at any moment? Or captured, branded terrorists, because  _you_  decided a heist was more important than their well-being?" There was no controlling the rollercoaster of his emotions.

Ford's eyes narrowed, and he informed him, "They were aware of the risks, though I'll remind you this mission was extremely tame in comparison to our usual jobs."

"Oh yes, going into a high-security military base where they shoot you on sight with a couple kids who don't know what they're doing tagging along is  _tame_. Go fuck yourself Stanford."

" _Language._ "

Bill was aware he'd crossed a line by verbally attacking Ford, and Stan took an intimidating step toward him. "Watch it, Bill. We wouldn't have brought them with if we thought they'd be in danger."

Coldly, Ford added, "They were perfectly safe throughout the mission. We wouldn't have allowed anything to go wrong."

By this point, Mabel was turning to Dipper, looking uncomfortable. "Well! This is awkward! Dippy, you want to go make dinner?" she asked him, moving from the couch to go into the kitchen. "I want some rice!"

Setting the ice aside, Dipper gave a glance around the room before sliding to his feet. "Uh… yeah, sure."

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Bill snapped at him. "This involves you, Pine Tree. Why would you agree to do something so damn dangerous?"

"Dangerous, yeah right." Stan scoffed, but he and Ford seemed to be trying to steer clear of this discussion as they reclaimed their spots at the table.

"Okay, okay." Dipper threw his arms up in mock surrender, then addressed his sister. "You can get food without me, Mabel." Bill heard her walking away, but he didn't care to look, keeping his stony gaze on Dipper. Expression gentle, he shuffled to sit beside him again. "Hey, it's alright, man. Nothing happened. It went smoothly, and I… I kind of liked it?"

"No, it's not  _alright_. Not only was I replaced, but it was by two kids that're useless– just look at how weak your arms are." Dipper's features had lost their previous warmth, and he looked increasingly annoyed as he continued to speak. "If you were attacked, you couldn't even try to defend yourself, let alone carry anything of worth."

"Oh, fuck you," Dipper snarled. Why did  _he_ get a pass on swearing? Ford normally bitched at Bill for it. "Why aren't you happy for me, or at least supportive? I thought you'd  _want_ this with how many times you've begged me to stay." He never begged. Maybe he asked… repeatedly, but it wasn't  _begging_.

"Excuse me?" it was a prompting question from Ford. "You've attempted to persuade him?"

"Put a sock in it,  _Stanford_. You don't have the right to get involved, you inconsiderate egghead." To Dipper, his response was harsh: "I didn't want to get replaced by a  _child_  on a heist. The rest is unimportant and irrelevant. Toughen up Pine Tree, if you can't handle that you can go back to the nursery like the sapling you are." Ha, clever wordplay  _and_ applicable. He should give himself a pat on the back for that.

Dipper was fuming. "Why can't you look past yourself for one damn minute and realize the world doesn't revolve around you? Not everything is done with you in mind, and you have no right to be so full of yourself, because not only had I never heard of the 'magnificent Bill Cipher' before walking in here, but sometimes I think everyone would probably be better off without you. You're such a jackass, hurting people— especially the ones you claim to 'care' about, and you don't show a single ounce of remorse over it." There was a pause as he caught his breath, but he kept going, voice cracking in anger. "It's like... you just use people for your own gain, throwing all consideration to the wind if it suits you, outright lying and cheating whenever it works in your favor. I don't know why I give you second chances when you constantly wreck them, promising you'll change, even though that's just another one of your lies so I stick around and put up with your shit!" By the time he was finished speaking, Dipper had moved from the couch and stalked off into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Eyes flashing with rage, Bill could hardly process all of these… lies, coming out of Dipper's mouth. How  _dare he_  say those things to him? He didn't know him, didn't have a right to say those things to him. Bill had thought, perhaps… Dipper would be the one to  _get him_ , but it seemed he was wrong. Dipper was just like everyone else, full of deceit and lies and betrayal, and now…

Now Bill needed to get rid of him. That  _boy_  needed to get the fuck out of his room  _right now_. Stomping over to the door of his bedroom, Bill attempted to turn the knob.

It was locked. The son of a cunt  _locked him out of his own room_. "Mason, _open the fu_ —" it was a near shout, but he realized he needed a different approach. Exhaling to try again, his voice was low and dangerous, sickeningly charming, "Open the door, please. Mason, my dear. My sweet. Just open the door, love. I promise I'll play nice, I won't lay a hand on you, my pretty darling." There was no response, and his voice lost its kindness. "Fine, I'm going to count to three! One." He waited a moment before he continued, an edge in his tone. " _ **Two**_." There was still no response. He ought to teach this Pine Tree a lesson, he was done being patient. "Fuck it!" He took a step back and slammed his shoulder into the door, hoping to throw it open.

When that didn't work, he turned to Stan and Ford, who both looked like deer caught in the headlights. "The bitch locked me out. Get the master key."

Stan coughed, clearing his throat. "Sorry Bill, not our problem." Oh really?

Well, it  _would_  be their problem when he  _burned the piece of shit out_.

"Perhaps you ought to take a drive," Ford offered awkwardly, "let emotions settle."

"I have a better idea." He knew where they kept a spare can of gasoline. If he were to pour it onto the carpet outside the door and ignite it…. Smoking him out would leave Dipper with two choices: escape or die. It was brilliant. Whatever was inside could be replaced, it didn't matter what went up in flames as long as it scared Dipper out.

Turning on his heels, he left the penthouse. Retrieving the can of gas was easy, and he ignored the others as he began to douse the carpet outside his bedroom door in the flammable substance. His movement seemed to catch Mabel's attention, because she had sprung to her feet. "Stan!" she yelled out as she launched herself at Bill, taking him by surprise. He thought she'd go running for Stan before she attacked.

Bill grunted as the force of her body crashing into him sent him into the soaked carpet, and he struggled to detach her from him. She was powerful despite her size. No wonder she often fared better than her whiny, dishonest bitch of a brother. "Get the fuck off of me, Shooting Star."

At the ruckus, Stan got up and ran over, probably not about to aid his cause. "What the fuck Bill?" He pulled Mabel away, then dragged Bill from the door after he attempted the blunt force method again. Jackass.

Ford was also bolting from the table, collecting the canister of gasoline and hauling it far out of his reach. "What on earth are you  _doing_ , Cipher?"

There was a creak, and the door opened slightly to reveal Dipper, but he jolted back upon realizing he'd stepped in gasoline. His eyes were windows into his terror as they rose to him, taking another wobbly step back. "Oh my god, Bill.." it was laced with astonishment and fear and hurt, like he couldn't believe what he was witnessing. There was no time to respond, as the door was being slammed in his face again, this time he could hear the lock clicking into place, then a sliding sound against the wood that suggested Dipper sat against the other side.

It was hard to feel remorse in that moment, after everything  _Dipper_  had done. Bill wasn't the bad guy here.

He wasn't the bad guy.

Right?

A growl formed in his throat and he tore himself from Stan's grip, departing from the room to brood on the balcony. Fuck them all. He hated them. He hated their guts, their stupid judgemental faces about the fact he wanted to burn Dipper out of the room. Dipper had it coming for his betrayal, why couldn't they see that? Why was he in the wrong when everyone else always hurt him?

Sitting down on the patio sofa, he breathed in the fumes of the gasoline that clung to his clothes as he reached into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes. How badly he wanted them, to inhale the toxic smoke that calmed his nerves. He wanted to relax but as long as he was covered in gasoline, it was a distant dream. All thanks to the asshole who locked him out of his fucking room.

* * *

Time seemed to trickle by slowly, encasing Bill in his thoughts and his loneliness and his regret as he gazed up at the dark sky. He could hardly remember watching as the orange sunset dipped below the horizon, casting the world in the shadows of night. Not like he could remember Dipper's words, the truth that stung worse than being cut with a knife. It made him want to disappear, to fade and never return, because it'd be in everyone's best interest.

He could see it in how Stan and Ford had lingered in the living room for the longest time, hovering like they were watching him. Babysitting him, as if he was some madman about to snap over the slightest inconvenience, but their worry wasn't about  _him_ , it was his 'instability.' And when he hadn't rose to the challenge, they'd left him alone like everyone would eventually.

They didn't need him, they never… needed him. He was worthless, pathetic, a disgrace. The only thing he ever gave to the world was pain and despair. He ruined lives, he brought out the worst in people, he was… not the best. Bill knew Stan occasionally called him a monster and he was right, he was. He didn't deserve others, not companionship, not friends. Not Dipper. Everything would be better if he was gone.

Behind him, there was the sound of the sliding door opening and closing, then Dipper stood before him. Bill raised his eyes and took in the sight: he looked like a mess, really. His eyes were puffy and red as if he'd been crying, his clothes were wrinkled, and his brown hair was sticking out in every odd direction. Dipper's delicate fingers twitched at his sides, and he seemed to rock slightly on his heels, overall appearing to be very uncomfortable. An awkward cough, and he averted his eyes.

At last, he spoke softly, "I, uh… I'd kind of like to sit with you. May I?"

Just that question had Bill itching for a smoke again, had been for hours, but did he deserve it? Was the inability to smoke part of this torture, because he didn't deserve pleasure when no one received it in his presence? It was agonizing, the knowledge he wasn't as… stunning, as marvelous, as he had considered himself to be.

He didn't want Dipper's company, wasn't worthy of it, didn't want to inevitably hurt him more than he already had. He knew he had, couldn't get the look of  _fear_  in his eyes when he'd seen the gasoline-soaked floor out of his mind, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Dipper. Instead, he tucked into himself, trying to make himself as small as possible on the sofa in hopes he'd implode like a star and just… stop existing. "Okay." Speaking felt like shattered glass was in his mouth and throat, cutting him apart with the slightest movement. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want Dipper. Dipper would just leave anyway. Everyone did… and they were right to, because Bill wasn't deserving.

Now equipped with permission from his sad excuse for a heterosexual life partner, Dipper sat beside him on the sofa, movements rather stiff. He kept his arms on his knees, pressed together, keeping a healthy few inches between them. When the kid would've otherwise climbed onto his lap with confidence, this distance had to be intentional, not that he blamed him.

"I shouldn't have done that earlier," Dipper said, the confession fragile. "I'm so sorry. It was a horrible thing, saying that about you and how you treat people." Near the end, his voice was wavering, and through his peripherals, he could see Dipper was trembling too.

Bill couldn't understand why he was apologizing. It wasn't like it wasn't true. He was… awful, inconsiderate. He wrecked lives, he used people, he walked over others without a second thought. It was no wonder Stan and Ford didn't plan on having him take over the Owls when they were gone, Red was a better person than he'd ever be. There was no fixing what a monster he was. "I don't know why," was his quiet response. "It's true. All of it… all of it is true." The fact Dipper was here now, speaking to him like he mattered, was just another testament to how much better he was than Bill. He wouldn't have done that, he wouldn't have  _thought_  to. "I thought you were done with me," he mumbled. "I don't know why you'd bother wasting your time with someone who just… keeps hurting you, over and over. I really don't deserve you."

Dipper's breath caught, and he seemed to struggle for air momentarily before his strained noises melted into small sniffles. "I don't know what to do." The words were watery, the pitch altered like he was crying and had been for a while now. "I just don't know. I want to believe you can be better than this, you— you're sometimes so nice to me and you seem to honestly be trying," a hiccup interrupted him, "and I think things are getting better but then it feels like we're back to where we started."

What could he say to that? He wasn't sure if there was anything he could say, because nothing could fix him. He was a manipulative, lying piece of shit, and Dipper would be happier if he just… forgot him. Left him to rot with their memories and Dipper's regretful tears, because Bill sure as hell hadn't done anything to earn his friendship. He was a grade A jerk plain and simple, and he couldn't understand why Dipper stayed, even now. He wished he had his patience. "I  _am_  trying," he told him. "It's always so fucking hard and so fucking draining and  _exhausting_  and it's like no matter what I do, I'm just a fuckup who hurts you."

"What's exhausting?" Dipper asked, swallowing hard. "..Being with me?"

"Being… better. Not lying, trying to ...improve my behavior. It's not… being with you, it's the change." Which he knew wasn't a bad thing, but it was still exhausting. "I don't  _want_  to hurt you, Pine Rose. It's…" He had spent the majority of his life being a dick. Playing nice was hard.

Slowly, he nodded. "Oh.. got it." Dipper shuffled to face him, folding his legs under him on the sofa cushion. "I don't understand," he sounded so sad, "why you feel the need to lie to me, or degrade me, but at the same time you seem to like me and want me around? It just doesn't add up."

"Look…" Bill sighed, keeping his gaze downcast. "Look at it like this. Someone has spent their life thinking they'd never like someone enough to have a lasting relationship with them. Every other person they've been with was meaningless, a notch under their belt they forgot about an hour later. Then they met someone like you– someone they wanted to be around consistently, someone they'd  _kill for_ , and it's nothing like they've experienced before. Add to that the pounding thought of 'they're going to leave soon' and 'the bosses keep telling them to stay away' because they're 'not good for them' and you get me. I don't know how to relationship and I'm constantly fighting with the crippling fear of you leaving and the understanding I'm not supposed to be around you.  _And_  that I'm easily replaced, so if you were permitted to stay… I might not be. They won't need or want me."

"Okay," he exhaled, "I... just need a second to think about all that." And Dipper paused for a minute, maybe two, lost to the neverending cognitions he seemed to entertain all day, every day. "I know it has to be hard for you, being inexperienced with this sort of thing, and I can understand that." A hand brushed through his hair, mussing the fluffy locks further as he gathered his thoughts. "I'm not sure how Stan and Ford feel about it anymore. They seem to be okay with us hanging out, but they don't want us dating, I guess." He went quiet again, nervously playing with the fabric of the sofa cushion before murmuring, "But I promise you won't be replaced. They wouldn't do that."

Bill's laugh was short, almost bitter. "They did today. Within hours, they already had you and Mabel as replacements. Who's to say they'd want me if they brought you on? It's not like I only work for them. I'm expendable." With some training, Dipper and Mabel would be less so given they were loyal to the Owls. Bill was a loose cannon. "And would you even date me if they didn't care?" He didn't think so. He was less worthy than dirt.

"They didn't have a choice," Dipper pointed out, Bill silently noting how he ignored the latter question. "They were desperate and needed  _lookouts_ , we basically did nothing the whole time." Uneasiness seemed to sweep through him, the way he shuffled his weight and glanced away. "Which— I mean, I guess it makes sense, y'know? I am useless, like you said. I couldn't even get the headset on without Ford's help."

Bill had to shake his head at him. The kid had everything wrong. "Sugar, don't listen to me. You're not useless… if you were, they wouldn't have bothered bringing you along. Think of it as… small steps toward a larger heist with a better role, if that becomes what you want to do."

Dipper gave a sad laugh-hiccup, wiping away his tears. "How should I interpret that when you literally started with 'don't listen to me'?"

"Should have said 'earlier me.'"

He moved on to say, "I don't know if it's what I want to do. While I did have a nice time, I don't know why you freaked out and called me useless, if you don't think I am. Did you honestly feel like they'd replace  _you_? With— with Mabel and I when we were their desperate, last resort options?"

Pine Tree wasn't getting it. He  _had been_  replaced, with hardly a second thought. "You weren't their last resort options," Bill muttered. "They had other options." Like Soos's pathetic cousin Reggie, and his former business associates were a call away. "I was… replaced, and I don't like that, Pine Rose."

Dipper thought for several seconds, then sighed. "They wanted you and Wendy, but they settled for Mabel and I since you couldn't be there. If things changed and you were available, they'd choose you over us. Ford seriously told us that, word-for-word." When he didn't receive an answer, he went on to ask, "Didn't you say your dad had you help him run some business, or.. was that not true?"

His father? Bill's attention snapped to that. "It was." Unfortunately, a chapter in his life he'd rather forget.

"When an employee couldn't come into work, it's not like they shut down the company for the day. They found someone else to fill in. Not ideal, but... yeah. It's not a personal attack against the employee, which is how you seem to be taking it." Obviously, Dipper didn't know his parents. Dipper frowned, eyes dancing over the city of glittering lights, and when he spoke again it was soft, "It's not always all about you, Bill." An echo of what he'd said earlier.

Bill glanced at him with dark eyes. "Companies run by people like my father did not take kindly to employees not showing up. Being late or absent was grounds for termination, and they would be replaced by another pawn. There is no reason for me to believe my role in this crew is secured."

"Mm," a little hum, "well, I don't know how long you've been doing this, but it can't be the only job you've passed on. But you're still here, aren't you? Look, you're a total dick to everybody, so if they didn't want you, you'd be gone already."

Maybe it wasn't the only job he passed on, but he wasn't frequently  _replaced_ , and it was almost unnerving to him. "Just you wait Pine Tree, they'll find someone less handsome than me and it'll be the end of it all." Until he killed everyone.

Dipper grinned faintly, nudging him. "Impossible, there isn't anybody less handsome than you."

It was warming at first, until… Bill realized Dipper insulted him. The cunt. "I can't believe you," he grumbled, desiring to leave the balcony. "First you insult my personality and tell me I'm such a horrible bastard in front of the crew, and now you're going after my looks."

"With an ego the size of Mount Chiliad, I didn't think you'd take that to heart," Dipper admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and lowering his gaze. "I thought you knew you were like, y'know... really attractive." Awkwardly, he fumbled over his words. "I couldn't stop thinking about it the day I was drawing you, and maybe every day after that too..?" It wasn't a question, but it seemed like one with the way his voice raised at the end of his sentence.

Of course he knew he was the best looking motherfucker in the States, even the world. He just liked to see how Dipper relented, almost with a look of guilt to his movements. Served the kid right for  _harassing_  him. Apologetically, he said, "Guess that was kind of mean."

Ah… the satisfaction Bil had felt disappeared, leaving him with a cold sensation. "No. You're not… mean, Pine Rose." Bill was just being manipulative, the same behavior Dipper had yelled at him for earlier. But why had he done that? It wasn't like Pine Tree insulting his looks bothered him… and he was somewhat over his criticism of his personality. Not really. But that only left him doing it for compliments, and as much as he liked them, he didn't want to force it.

Dipper peered at him questioningly. "Stop sugarcoating it. Compared to how I treat other people, I  _am_ mean to you, but I don't have to be."

"Nah," Bill said. "I'm just being a manipulative dick. Sorry, cutie."

He was silent for a few moments. "Okay… Wow. Didn't think you'd recognize and admit to that. Are you sure it didn't bother you?" A small frustrated noise escaped Dipper, and he explained, "See, it seems like you enjoy it a lot when I talk back to you, but then other times you completely freak out on me."

It didn't bother him, he was sure. "I do enjoy it," he confessed to him. "I didn't enjoy the… confrontation  _earlier_ , but I don't care if you sass me otherwise. It's... endearing." Bill was just a jerk for attention.

"What I said earlier wasn't— that wasn't what I was referring to." Oh yes, Bill knew the difference. "Some of those things were still really awful. I can't believe I said that, and I know it's not an excuse, but I was upset with you. You were calling me useless and weak, and I had no idea why you'd try to hurt me like that, so… I lashed out."

Bill still didn't think he was entirely in the wrong because Dipper was physically weak in comparison to everyone else in the crew. But he wasn't useless, something Bill somewhat regretted throwing in his face. Okay, maybe he regretted it a lot. Nothing he could do about that now. "Are you still upset with me?"

"Maybe, I don't know." Dipper seemed uncertain, conflicted. His gaze was clouded and watery again. "I just wish I could be confident that you actually respect me, because half of the time it feels like you don't with some of the stuff you do."

"I  _do_  respect you," Bill insisted. Well, he tried to. So what if he was bad at showing it?

"It's hard to see, I guess? You say these hurtful things, lie to me, write off my concerns, make demands, and a while ago ignored my request to slow down while we were doing intimate stuff. It's like you see me as lesser than you, as if my existence is solely to fulfill your wishes, and that's why I feel like you don't respect me."

Bill had been  _honest_  to him, Dipper really needed to move on from the lying when he was trying so  _hard_  to behave with that. It was almost irritating to have the same offenses cited against him. Did he see Dipper as a lesser being? Bill didn't believe so– sure, he could be cruel to the kid, but Dipper did the same back, right?

Right? …No, he was doing it again. He was trying to pin the blame on Dipper when the only one at fault was him. He was an ass with no hope of redemption, and he was struggling to  _get_  why Dipper had come to apologize to him. He wasn't worth the time.

But… Dipper was insistent, he seemed to have some sort of misplaced faith in him that he  _did_  have potential, and perhaps… perhaps Bill could change for the better. For Dipper. He was tired of the constant fighting, of seeing Pine Rose cry, of knowing it was  _his_  fault the one person he cared about was hurt.

Tuning back into the rest of the world, apparently Dipper had been repeating his name several times, looking at him with wide eyes. " _Bill_? Are you okay? You've been staring at nothing for about two minutes now."

His concern was heartwarming, but Bill wasn't sure if he was fine. He couldn't be  _fine_  until Dipper liked him again. "I… I'm okay," he resigned. "I want to be better to you."

"You could start by… possibly,  _not_ trying to trap me in a room you're about to start on fire," Dipper suggested. "That was seriously terrifying. I… I hope you wouldn't have actually done it, but still. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around you."

"Maybe…" Bill hesitated. "You've been on a heist now. You know the codewords, correct?"

His head tilted, puzzled. "Yeah…?"

The codewords were close to something Bill had in mind. "We should have a safeword, cutie. Something we can say quickly, to tell the other when we're uncomfortable or if you want them to stop. Could come in handy when we argue and things get heated, or if we're fucking around and insulting each other and one of us takes offense, or during sex when we finally bone."

"A safeword," Dipper repeated, then nodded a little. "Okay, that's.. uh, an interesting idea but then what happens when it's used?"

"We stop doing whatever the hell we're doing." Was that not clear?

"But that doesn't resolve anything."

But it would! ...Hopefully. "That's why we talk immediately afterwards, it'd keep us from getting into a bigger fight and making things worse."

Dipper looked lost to his thoughts but asked, "Do you think that'll work? In the middle of an argument, it might be hard to take a step back and have a calm, rational discussion."

"It's worked before," Bill proudly told him, puffing up his chest. "You're not the first I've used safewords with, doll."

"Wait, what?" He blinked, and Bill wondered if the kid's curiosity knew any limits. "Why?"

Safewords were nice when he was tying bitches up and fucking them raw. "When you're doing kinky shit, it's good to have one."

Dipper's cheeks colored, and he gave a small laugh. "Okay, yeah. I should've known that considering it's you, I guess. So, hypothetically… if one of us uses the safeword, we stop what we're doing and have a conversation about it?"

Dipper was correct. "Does that sound good to you, cutie? If it does, all we need to do is make one."

"It sounds good," he confirmed. "You started this whole conversation by mentioning the heist code words. It could be something like that?"

Unlike the stupid Owl codewords, Bill wouldn't let it be a mile long. "Keep it simple, you need to say it quickly." Pomegranate was a horrible decision on Stan's part.

"Uh, alright…" he trailed off in thought, humming lightly. "Well, we could stick with the food theme and go with 'rhubarb'?"

Hm, it wasn't a bad idea. It was unique in the sense it sounded like nothing else, was significantly shorter than  _pomegranate_ , and who would use it in a conversation? "That works," he said. "Will you remember it?"

"Sure, will you? Rhubarb isn't hard to remember. It's… weird, but that's probably why I'll be able to recall it." Dipper paused, turning toward him again. "Just because we have a safeword now doesn't mean you can feel like it's alright to hurt me, though. Or try to kill me, like you did earlier."

"I wasn't trying to kill you," Bill quietly objected. "I just wanted… to smoke you out of my room after you decided to lock me out."

"You were in the process of lighting my only exit on fire," Dipper flatly reminded him.

That wasn't true! "You had a window!" He could've fit, although thinking about it… he probably would've fallen to his death. Whoops.

"I would've probably used it, to be honest. I don't want to die in a fire."

Bill wouldn't have let him die. He liked the kid too much to burn him alive. "You would've been fine, cutie."

"I would've been dead, actually."

"Seems like all those gasoline fumes have gotten to you, cutie. We already went over the window escape." Which probably wouldn't have worked, but whatever. No point in lingering on that thought.

Dipper shrugged. "Yeah, they probably have. You smell horrible, go take a shower or something."

His expression fell at the reminder. "Your sister owes me new clothes. She's ruined them and my ability to smoke." Bill was still frustrated about that.

"She doesn't owe you anything, dude. You kind of had that coming for trying to 'smoke me out' which really just means 'impulsively kill my heterosexual life partner.'" For several moments, Dipper sat in silence but drew his knees to his chest, as if heavily contemplating. "Is that what would've happened..? Were you going to kill me like you did your parents?"

If he were to kill Dipper like he did his parents, they needed a shitty dog, some rope, and a lot more gasoline. "No. I wasn't going to kill you." Well, he didn't intend to kill him.

"What  _were_ you doing?" Dipper asked, exasperated. "Like, what were you envisioning? If you started it on fire with gasoline, the place would've gone up in flames extremely fast."

"I was… frustrated and determined the best way to get you to listen to me was to force you out of my room." Through the window. "I suppose had you been unable to escape, I would have come for you." The fire wouldn't have been able to keep Bill from Dipper, even as it cooked his flesh. In hindsight, maybe that was a little absurd… impulsive, possibly, to launch himself into a fire he started to save Pine Rose.

Appearing slightly horrified, Dipper opened and closed his mouth several times, then finally settled on, "You, uh, probably shouldn't do that. Risk yourself, I mean. Obviously, you shouldn't go full pyro on me and start fires either, but Stan is always talking about how heroes get screwed over in your line of work, and if I decided to join..."

"Stan doesn't need to know, doll. Besides, it won't affect us on a heist."

Dipper challenged, "Okay, so if I mess up or… or get stuck in a bad situation, and you have the opportunity to save me, you're saying you won't?"

"That's not important, cutie! Don't screw up and we'll both be home free." He obviously would save the kid, assuming his own life wouldn't be at complete risk. He wasn't a hero. Dipper probably wasn't some damsel in distress. Although, he did act like it sometimes…

Really, it didn't matter. Bill hadn't burned down the penthouse and Dipper was alive, though he still knew he'd kill to protect the kid. But maybe he could do something about the impulsive behavior, namely squash it. He never liked the medication he'd taken previously, hated how it slaughtered his sex drive, but it did a hell of a job at smoothing out his moods. "Hey, Pine Tree," he started suddenly. "Did you think about the medication stuff?"

Dipper replied, "Mm-hmm, I think you should take it. Get your prescription changed to something that works the way you need it to, and be responsible for your mental health."

"I was referring to  _your_  medication." The little shit.

" _My_ medication?" Dipper questioned, innocently kicking his feet against the balcony's concrete, acting oblivious, but Bill knew he wasn't stupid. "I don't take any medications."

"You fucking should. You need it for your PTSD." He could see Dipper go completely rigid beside him, avoiding eye contact. "And before you start going off on how you don't need it, you might want to consider practicing what you preach to me about being responsible for your mental health."

When Dipper spoke again, it was tense, guarded. Maybe fearful. "Your medication was prescribed by a mental health professional, likely after counseling sessions and evaluations, Bill. You told me about how you saw a psychologist. And I— I haven't been to one, and I don't need to because it's not PTSD. It's not like I have flashbacks, and fireworks don't bother me, so logically—"

"This isn't a fucking war movie, Pine Tree. PTSD manifests in different ways. Don't assume it's only those two characteristics. Your nightmares, your anxiety–"

"My anxiety is usually justified!" he protested.

Was he fucking serious? "Christ Pine Rose, you cried over making me a sandwich the other day,  _then_ you had an anxiety attack because you thought I'd be mad at you for crying about it."

Dipper winced, but his voice was now softer, "Sometimes you overreact. How was I supposed to know?"

Bill sighed at him, still frustrated that he'd been difficult about this when he hardly left Bill alone over his own medication. "Will you at least try it, sugar?"

"I…" Dipper struggled, shifting nervously, doing everything he could to keep his gaze from meeting Bill's. "I'll think about it, alright..?"

"Alright." Bill relented. It was a lukewarm agreement to consider it, which was better than where they'd been yesterday with Dipper vehemently denying there was a problem altogether. He wasn't going to push the issue because while it wasn't much, it was progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an extension to this chapter that can be read [here](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/176927944957/c19-extended-scene). It's just fluff and doesn't advance the plot in any meaningful way, so it was posted on tumblr as a separate scene instead of included in the update.


	20. ssri sessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An appreciative shoutout to Oh_fuck_this_is_a_good_fic, Piqued Penguin, Allyce, NicAnBr, Violet_arabian, Acewolf, Ace, theincognitoburrito, Shockline, ProjectIcarus, Dargeon_Lissa, and TheUnluckyWriterTheSadArtist! Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, and enjoy the chapter dedication since we didn't have [time](https://www.epochconverter.com/timezones?q=&tz=America%2FLos_Angeles) to do comment replies before posting. We'll be catching up on them this weekend or early next week. <3
> 
> Second experimental chapter signaling a progression shift. These dorks have been through getting to know each other & friends with benefits lite, wonder what that leaves.
> 
> Warning(s): dangerous behavior, suicidal thoughts, mentions of cutting.

[1530057922 - session 0]

 **(5:05 PM)**   _Hey Dipper!_

 **(5:05 PM)**   _Dipper!_

 **(5:05 PM)**   _DIPPER!_

Dipper's phone buzzed with a bombardment of text messages, all from Mabel, and he dug the device from his back jeans pocket after a brief struggle with the seatbelt. It would've been easier if he'd been in the passenger seat since he could deposit his phone in the cupholder,  _but no_ — that seat was completely empty.

It'd started out innocent enough: Stan said he'd be grocery shopping this evening, and Dipper had volunteered to accompany him, wanting to look at ingredients for a few new recipes. That had prompted Bill to join them. So when Stan clarified that he would be driving, Bill just had to be stubborn about it and land them both in the backseat with his fit.

Another text message dragged his mind away from the giant man-baby currently pouting next to him with his arms folded.

 **(5:06 PM)**   _DIPPERRRRRRR! :(_

 **(5:06 PM)** Hey, what's going on?

 **(5:06 PM)**   _I wanted to talk to youuuu!_

 **(5:06 PM)**   _I have a sweet tooth and I need you to load me up!_

Recognizing that was Mabel's way of requesting sugary baked goods, he'd be happy to deliver and satiate both of their frequent cravings for sweet treats. Maybe a childhood of syrup-chugging contests would do that to a person.

 **(5:07 PM)** Sure, anything specific? If you need time to think about it, we're not even close to being there yet

 **(5:07 PM)** Still about twenty minutes of drive time to go

 **(5:07 PM)**   _EVERYTHING!_

In his peripheral vision, he managed to spot Bill shooting daggers at the back of Stan's head. It was like he was planning an elaborate murder of the poor guy… over what, being denied a chance at driving? Ignoring him, Dipper returned to his conversation with Mabel.

 **(5:07 PM)** I think we need to work on your understanding of 'specific'

 **(5:07 PM)** If you don't tell me your preferred means of getting diabetes, I'm just going to choose

 **(5:07 PM)**   _Diabetes? Don't be silly, that's not real!_

Well, alright.

It was, but he didn't have time to type that with movement catching his eye. He peered up from the screen to see Bill was tapping his own leg with one finger, shuffling beside him as he glared at the passenger seat, then back at Stan. "We should've taken  _my_  car." There was an irritated edge hiding in his voice.

"Your cars can't handle a grocery trip, Bill, 'specially not one all the way to Grapeseed. We'd get stranded on the side of the road." Stan's voice was light, as if he was teasing him, but Bill looked livid.

"That happened  _once_ ," Bill coldly reminded him. "And unlike this piece of junk, I could afford to fix it."

There was an incessant vibration in his hand as his phone lit up with more texts from Mabel, but he didn't look at them just yet, worried this less-than-friendly discussion between Stan and Bill would take a dive into uncivil territory. "Hey, relax," Dipper said, offering Bill a small smile. "If you want, we could go watch the sunset tonight at the canyon?" Bill's love of the stars was no secret. "I'll let you drive." The last bit was an attempt at a joke, one he hoped Bill would register as such, considering he never drove and didn't even have a full license.

Bill huffed softly, seemingly not amused by his joke… but he appeared to have relaxed, features warmer than they had been moments ago. "You better fucking let me drive. We'd probably die if you did."

That was assuming Bill didn't threaten to drive them into any semis, a memory that still elicited feelings of discomfort occasionally, but he shook it away. "Oh, probably," he agreed, then quietly teased, "and worse yet, I couldn't gaze at you the whole time. The horror." Flattery was generally a solid method of redirecting Bill.

"I'd hate to watch us drive off the road if you did. All that blood would ruin my handsome face." Although internally shuddering at the thought, Dipper was relieved this distraction was successful and had derailed an impending argument. Attention trained on Dipper, Bill seemed to have lost his focus on Stan and the 'driving issue'.

"Mm, I imagine your suit wouldn't fare too well either, so let's just stick to you driving. Besides, you have a track record of getting me where I want to go." On the bold side for his standards, but flirting tended to keep Bill's thoughts rather singular in nature, and with them… it was comfortable, fun. They both knew it didn't mean anything.

Bill raised his eyebrow at him, and Dipper playfully waggled his in return, trying not to burst into giggles as he did so. "I'll put my joystick in you. How's that, doll?"

He gave a squeak of alarm at the obscenity of that but finally succumbed to his laughter, a delighted flush on his cheeks. "Oh my god. That went from zero to sixty."

"So did my thrusts, cutie." Bill winked at him, and Dipper wanted to cover his burning face because he was so flustered but absolutely loving it all the same.

Stan's groan from the front reminded him of the rest of the world. "Get this shit out of my vehicle, you two!"

Joy fading, he realized Stan was right, they should keep themselves in check.

Sighing as if to recompose himself, Dipper supposed their interactions probably should retain a semblance of innocence within earshot of others. Everybody knew about their friends with benefits arrangement, but he understood not wanting it shoved down their throats, and he shouldn't get carried away with Bill like that. Distracting himself with the unread messages on his phone, it was a list of Mabel's confectionary desires, ranging from cupcakes to puddings.

Bill nudged Dipper, outright ignoring Stan's grumbling. "Cutie," he said, "why're you stopping? This isn't a good way to maintain your erection, sugar."

"Stan's yelling probably didn't help," he replied with a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in guilt and glancing away from Bill. "Maybe we shouldn't.."

"Ya bet your asses you shouldn't," Stan barked, the unexpected harshness causing Dipper to jump slightly. "Keep it in your pants. Really, ya shouldn't be around each other how ya are anyway."

That seemed to hit a nerve because Bill snarled, "Why don't you shut the fuck up for once in your life, Stanley?" While Stan had been blunt, Bill's response was an overreaction, much more scathing and personal, and it rendered Dipper momentarily speechless from the force of it. "I'm sick of your fucking bitching."

"Then ya should fucking get over it," Stan responded angrily. "I can't risk ya two jeopardizing a heist because of your relationship."

"It's not a romantic one," Dipper jumped in, nervously wanting to clarify, "and we wouldn't risk a mission." Well, he hoped Bill wouldn't, though his previous answer on that topic had been unpromising.

Bill didn't look like he was going to back down. " _We_  won't be risking a stupid heist just because we're heterosexual life partners. I don't need to put my life on the line for this relationship to work."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Stan demanded. Dipper also wanted to know, confused by his statement and wondering if it was a reference to some past event.

"It means I don't need to show off to keep my girlfriend interested in me."

"You have a girlfriend?" The question was a knee jerk reaction, mostly one of surprise, since Dipper hadn't realized, hadn't actually considered the possibility with how Bill flirted with him—

"You, sugar."

Oh, right. Wait, no— "Um, we're dating?" Bill could've at least had the decency to tell him.

Bill shrugged, but Stan growled. "No, you're not fucking dating! No one is dating!" Breathing a sigh of relief, he was glad Stan decided it for them because he didn't think they should be having that discussion, much less dating. When he couldn't even manage getting a grip on his own life, he clearly wasn't ready, and they weren't… in the best place for that sort of relationship.

"Stan's just jealous of our life partnership," Bill informed Dipper. "Let's get married to spite him."

While accustomed to Bill's 'marriage proposals' when they happened in private, this was different and Dipper blinked at him, eyes wide. No way, they weren't doing that. Even if he had harbored amorous feelings for Bill, he'd still be against it since irritating Stan wasn't a good enough reason to make major, life-changing decisions.

Stan turned his head to glare at Bill. "Fuck off, Bill. You're not getting married." Telling Bill he couldn't have or do something? That would undoubtedly just make the situation worse. Hadn't Stan learned anything from instructing Bill to stay away from him and Mabel?

Bill scooted closer to Dipper, throwing his arm around him and drawing him in. Instinctively, Dipper curled into it, as if hiding against Bill would shield him from this conversation since it was beginning to bring him stress, worried by how Bill kept pushing and Stan kept reacting. "We can run away together," Bill continued, ignoring Stan's protests. "Elope in the country." His tone was light, joking– but his cold gaze was on Stan. That made him slightly more comfortable, uncoding the silent message in play: Bill wasn't being serious, this was an attempt to rile Stan.

Which he didn't approve of, but at least it alleviated the pressure of Bill honestly wanting those things.

Stan looked ready to pull the car over and chuck Bill onto the pavement, the visibility of his anger making Dipper light-headed and fidgety. "Ya better not, Bill."

"What're you going to do?" Bill challenged, volume rising to a borderline yell. "You can't do shit without Fordsy's permission, Stanley. It's like you're tied to the hip even with a divided room."

Stan bristled. "That applies to you too! You have your bed split for hookers!"

"Correction, it  _was_  divided until Pine Tree joined me in bed. He refuses to use that side, because he's not a slut." And Bill had lost his joking tone, making him concerned that they were flying toward a much more serious argument.

"Bill," he murmured through a strained inhale, "I.. I don't—"  _feel good_ , but he choked on the words. The tension within the car was escalating beyond what he was alright with, quickly beginning to overwhelm him with stress, and he didn't know how to take these two down a couple notches when they both seemed bent on throwing their aggression at one another. 

His distress caught Bill's attention, and Bill turned to him with what seemed to be concern. "You doing okay there, Pine Rose?"

Dipper wanted to collapse against him, starting to shake from the welling anxiety. "No," he managed. "Hey, um, can we just take a breather?" He needed a moment to recollect himself, to let the creeping pressure settle since it was rising too fast to be controllable; he hated that he was helpless in this state, hated how he couldn't even logically work through his stupid emotions. Dipper knew he was better than this, as being unable to lessen his irrational anxiety made him feel… crazy.

"Not until Bill agrees to leave you the fuck alone," Stan snapped. "Seriously. It's not that hard." Despite what Stan said and how much merit it had (a different problem altogether), all Dipper experienced was fear— he didn't want to be alone, couldn't handle this on his own. And the thought of being forcibly separated from Bill had his last defenses crumbling down, leaving him vulnerable to the flood of panic.

Breath catching, Dipper struggled to inhale-exhale-inhale.. when it seemed he couldn't get enough oxygen in, physically incapable of doing so when it  _hurt_ so badly, and he was pretty sure that was the least of his concerns when he was going to die of oxygen deprivation first. Dipper was suffocating, but suffocating on absolutely nothing except his own illogical, primal panic. Pathetic. Stupid. He was supposed to be the smart one, but he was going to die because he couldn't figure out how to breathe, his body just wouldn't let him.

Dipper was coughing, wheezing with his entire frame in violent convulsions while his muscles seemed too tense yet were about to fall apart simultaneously. He wished he could beg Bill, wanted to repeat 'don't leave, don't leave' but it wasn't going to happen, not when the anxiety had a terrifying grasp on him, making him capable of only pitiful, pained noises.

Stan went quiet, clearing his throat. "Kid? Are you alright?"

"Of course he's not alright," Bill snapped. "He's having a panic attack." To Dipper, he was gentler, reaching to rub what he could of his back. "Take it easy, cutie, okay? Breathe in, breathe out." And Dipper squeezed his eyes shut, just trying to focus on Bill's voice and presence and forget what happened because thinking about it made the sensation worse.

Eventually, he did manage to become calmer, though it was several minutes past the time they'd arrived at the grocery store and Stan had gone inside. Bill had decided to stay, to his relief, and Dipper was leaning between him and the door of the car, simply trying to regain his clear mind. "I need help," Dipper croaked brokenly, throat raw from coughing. He shifted closer to bury his face into Bill's shoulder with a muffled, "You were right."

Bill wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head. "Does that mean you'll try medication?"

It had been what he meant, but hearing it so plainly struck hesitance into him. He couldn't reject the offer now, not when anybody could see this was no way to live his life, constantly powerless to his anxiety regulation. "Yeah," he said softly, nuzzling further into Bill, "if you think it'll help." What a dumb thing to say, he mentally scolded himself, knowing Bill wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't think it'd be helpful.

"Of course it'll help," came a reassuring murmur, kisses tracing over his birthmark. "You'll be feeling better in no time."

Maybe. He possessed doubts, worries, fears, but what choice did he have? He'd need to trust Bill.

* * *

[1530168049 - session 1]

Every inch of him ached from the repetitive motion of scrubbing the carpet free of gasoline stains. It was made worse by the trace scent of vinegar—what Stan and Ford initially used to remove the gasoline—lingering in the air, and combined with the dishwashing liquid, it was creating an unpleasant aroma.

Not the first time he'd noticed an increased sensitivity to certain scents now that he'd been on the medication, but this particular one was becoming unbearable.

"Think I'm going to have to take a break," Dipper said, tilting his head to glance at Bill. Still focused on scrubbing the carpet, he looked tired, the beams of moonlight coming through the wall window and the television's glow highlighting the dark lines under his pretty dichromatic eyes. Dipper didn't comment, figuring he didn't look much better. It was late, they were the only ones awake along with Mabel, who was planted in front of the flat-screen but was probably busy with her phone.

Bill gazed at Dipper, continuing to scrub as his eyebrows furrowed at him. "Are you okay, sugar?"

"Nauseous," Dipper said with a shrug, leaning back to rest his weight on his folded legs. Gasoline mixed with vinegar and dish soap had him feeling sick, likely a smaller albeit still annoying side effect of the sertraline Bill had provided him.

"Can't handle some vinegar?" he asked playfully. "I always knew you had a weak stomach doll, but that's sad even for you."

Dipper tried to maintain a straight face, aiming for a thoughtful expression. "No, it's not the vinegar," he lied. "It's... this sweet scent, but kind of spicy? Like spicy honey." Bill's scent. "Whatever that is, it really reeks."

"Your nose must've gone bad from all the gasoline, cutie. Spicy honey is  _fantastic_."

"My nose is fine," he defended, placing the dishrag into the soapy bucket of water before hoisting himself up, "but I still have to stop for a while unless you want me to start gagging."

Bill shook his head. "Stop then. I don't want to clean up vomit too. That's disgusting, doll."

Dipper deadpanned, "I don't know why I expected any sympathy from you whatsoever." And he hadn't, not really. It was nice enough that Bill was foreseeably going to cover his portion of the remaining scrubbing unless he returned in time to do it.

"Nausea's just a side effect," Bill informed him. "You'll be fine, Pine Rose." Oh, he liked that nickname, liked that Bill continued to use it on him, liked how it made him melt.

"Could still be sympathetic," he mumbled through a pout, feigning annoyance, but it was hard to hold that when he wanted to grin. "Is it out of the question to expect endless doting from my heterosexual life partner? Choose your next words carefully." Dipper's foot moved to rest on the edge of the bucket of soapy water, a silent threat.

His laugh was short, and it died when he noticed Dipper moving in on his bucket of water. "If you knock it over cutie, I will  _never_  forgive you."

A light hum filled the air. "I'm feeling nice, but not that nice— as in, I  _will_ knock this bucket over. Want to try again?"

"Pine Rose, you better not."

His eyebrows lifted in amusement because that wasn't a safeword, that was a challenge. "Huh, wrong answer." Effortlessly, Dipper kicked the pail toward him, which sent a miniature tidal wave of foamy liquid rushing across the carpet and onto Bill's slacks.

Expression flashing with annoyance at the new mess, Bill sprang away from the building pool that saturated the flooring while he muttered a string of curses. Dipper bit his lip to prevent a smile from breaking through, looking away innocently, yet was unprepared for what was to come. "Since there are no towels around, Pine Tree," Bill mused after a brief pause, "I guess you better give me your shirt."

Oh.

Dipper flushed, caught off guard by the request but nevertheless started to unbutton it. Water wouldn't harm his precious plaid, and if it did… Bill owed him a shirt. "But I'll be cold now," he said through a mock protest, slipping the garment from his shoulders and handing it over.

Bill smirked at him, taking his shirt and pushing it into the sodden carpet. "Maybe you should've thought about that before you spilled water everywhere, cutie."

"When I'm with you, I can't help it. You just make me so wet," he teased. It wasn't the correct biology, but it was passable when Bill seemed to want to convince himself he was a girl.

"Apparently so does a bucket of water. It's a shame you gotta wear a wet shirt now."

"Give me something of yours to wear." Dipper crossed his arms to convey defiance and preserve warmth, not that it was particularly cold in the penthouse.

In response, Bill reached to undo his bowtie, standing to promptly put it around Dipper's neck, then tying it. "There you go!"

Dipper huffed, "Seriously? If you're going to make me wear it, at least put it on right." Bill gave him a confused look.

"It is on right."

Determined to show him the obviously proper way to boast a bowtie, Dipper fumbled to undo it from his neck and once he'd done so, tied the fabric into his hair as Bill had done so long ago at the mall as a form of punishment. The bowtie elevated the fluffy wave that hid his birthmark, and Dipper asked with a snicker, "Don't I look like a pretty princess?" It was a reference to what Bill had said to him, just without the 'little shit' part.

Bill scowled. "No, not anymore."

Dipper resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Bill's stubbornness. "Deny it all you want, just give me your blazer." Something that wasn't a tiny piece of silk to wear would be ideal, as he was hoping to minimally restore some of the lost body heat.

"Why would I do that…?" Bill inquired, his head tipping to a side. "You look good with your nipples perky."

" _Bill_." This time it was a shrill whine to get his attention, wishing Bill wouldn't say things like that. "Please. I'm cold, I feel nauseous, and I want to sit down." Maybe not the best reasoning but it was true, the scent was starting to physically affect him again, despite the distance from the gasoline-vinegar-soap water spill.

For a moment, Bill looked like he wanted to argue with him, but he remained silent as he moved to take his blazer off. "You owe me one, Pine Rose."

Dipper slid the blazer on, glad it wasn't too heavy since that meant he probably wasn't carrying around Bill's gun. The tails hung near his knees, and the sleeves went beyond his hands, but it was still much better than nothing. "Thanks," he murmured appreciatively, casting a glance at where Mabel sat in front of the television, unaware, then turned back to Bill to steal a gentle kiss. It was only when he pulled away that he realized it was a bit out of the ordinary— kissing Bill to show  _affection_ instead of desire or comfort or even no reason at all… Well, that was new, but also unworthy of concern.

Leaving Bill to finish scrubbing the carpet while he tried to escape the nausea, Dipper was relieved when he stepped away from the offending scent, taking deep breaths of the fresh air on the other side of the penthouse living room. Sitting down beside Mabel on the sofa, he inquired, "What are you watching?"

Mabel was staring at the screen with wide eyes. " _Ghost Shenanigans_!" She spoke with excitement, looking at Dipper. "One of the ghosts is a meanie! It reminded me of how… how Bill poured gasoline all over and wanted to set it on fire. How's the cleaning going, by the way?"

Wincing at the memory, Dipper slowly nodded because… well, yes, that had happened, and it'd been downright horrifying. Seeing the fire in Bill's eyes, the recklessness— the fury that drove him to consider murder as a viable option in settling a disagreement. Dipper shuddered, trying to shake the thoughts to the back of his mind. "We're making progress with it. I mean, Bill is now, since I couldn't take the smell anymore." Ever since starting sertraline, pungent scents had been an issue, but Bill had assured him it wouldn't last. Quieter, Dipper confessed a bit sadly, "I'm glad you stopped him."

"Well," Mabel said. "I didn't have a choice! That nasty gas was all over the place and he wouldn't stop! It's like…" her voice dropped to a whisper, "he went all  _cray-cray_."

Shifting uncomfortably at the wording, Dipper didn't know if it was accurate. While Bill had BPD and struggled with impulsive decision-making, that didn't make him crazy. Just like taking his time with grief and having some nightmares over a traumatic incident didn't make him crazy either, he thought defensively. "We talked about it afterward. He seemed genuinely apologetic."

She hummed. "Are you sure? You said you didn't know if you could trust him before."

"Yeah, I still don't know if I can." Bill had tried to 'smoke him out', which would've resulted in his death and maybe the deaths of others as well, though apparently that hadn't been Bill's intention.

"So why have you, y'know– gotten all cozy with him again?"

Dipper's guard went up but he tried not to show it, aware her question was valid and coming from a place of concern. "What do you mean?" he asked, peering at her. "I don't know if we're… cozy, exactly. We're only friends." With mild benefits, but that didn't require trust, just a mutual attraction to each other.

Mabel shuffled in her seat. "Well, you seemed to have really warmed up again, and Stan doesn't like it that much. He keeps talking about how bad of a guy Bill is, and how it'd be better if you stayed away from him."

"He has flaws," Dipper said carefully but looked downward, wishing he had a better answer than that. Or just better, logical reasons for staying around Bill and giving him several opportunities to prove he could be a good person, and sometimes, he didn't disappoint. "Bill usually treats me well, and we have a system to prevent hurting one another now, in theory." Whether or not it'd work, he didn't know.

"What if it doesn't?" she asked. "What if Stan's right? I don't want to lose you, Dipper."

"Then we try a different method?" Dipper suggested. Although he knew Mabel was worried, it was hard to hear since he shared the same fears, so he curled inward, bringing his knees to his chest. It wasn't a surprise that he could fit nearly his entire body inside of Bill's blazer, and he liked the feeling of being surrounded by it. "You won't lose me. Bill's not dangerous," not to him, anyway, "I don't think he would've actually started that fire." By the time he'd be ready to, the heat of the moment would've passed.

Mabel shuffled over to lean against him, and Dipper wrapped his arms around her in a brief hug, trying to be comforting. "He doesn't seem stable, Dippy. What happens if… if he snaps one day and takes it out on you?"

"I don't know." Maybe he'd ask Bill later. "I hope he doesn't, but it's not like we'll be here forever, y'know? We're still not a part of the Owls," Ford had made that clear, "and we have about three weeks left." Dipper had mixed feelings about it, but this wasn't the conversation to delve into that.

Mabel frowned at him. "It's not too late to join them, Bro-bro! We just gotta convince them to let us!" Dipper didn't have a reply to that yet, trying to leave his options open since he still wanted more experience before making a decision one way or the other. "Come on, Dippy! It'll be fun!"

"Look, I— I'm not sure what I want." It would be a huge step to leave and resume their semi-normal lives, a terrifying prospect to be on their own, but it was equally intimidating to join the Owls if the choice became available. Stan and Ford had to  _want_ them first. That was a criminal record, a lifetime of illegal and dangerous activities, and there was no going back regardless of which they did. He was afraid of making the wrong decision.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bill getting up from scrubbing and moving to approach them. "Pine Rose, Shooting Star." His greeting was light. "Talking about how amazing I am? I know you might think me  _unhinged_ , Shooting Star—" maybe they shouldn't have been discussing this about ten feet from Bill, "but I can assure you the medication I've been taking has kept me quite  _stable_."

Previous concerns forgotten at the good news, Dipper brightened at that. "You're taking your medication? That's really great, dude. What changed your mind?"

"I had to switch it, but yes, I have been." He paused. "You did."

Head tilting, Dipper made a questioning noise. "Me?" Perhaps he'd hounded Bill about it a couple times, but that hadn't seemed effective in the past. It merely resulted in Bill brushing him off, claiming he didn't need it, or that it ruined his sex drive.

Bill's laugh was soft. "Who else would've gotten me to, doll? You started taking medication, so it's only fair I hold up my end of the bargain." It hadn't been a bargain, but he guessed he couldn't complain. If taking medication was what he needed to do to ensure Bill also remained responsible for his mental health, that wouldn't be a problem.

* * *

[1530263949 - session 4]

When Dipper woke, he was expecting the racing heart, sweaty skin, gasps and coughs as he struggled for air… but there was nothing. Just.. nothing, and it was unsettling because he always had physical as well as emotional reactions to his nightmares. Although hypothesizing that was what he'd woke from, there was no evidence of a nightmare aside from the logical conclusion it'd startled him into consciousness.

Shifting to roll over, Dipper's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom, the clouds covering the moon tonight. It was eerie, silent, but didn't feel as distressing with Bill beside him and a total lack of reaction to the nightmare.

Since it seemed he hadn't woke Bill, Dipper wriggled from the starry sheets, his feet padding over the carpeted flooring as he started to pace. He didn't feel nervous as he knew he should, and that was enough to make him wonder what was wrong. Aware he should have  _some_ reaction, being unemotional was disturbing under these circumstances, and Dipper decided pacing was the best method of clearing his head. Maybe afterward, he'd be able to get some sleep.

Bill stirred after only a moment of this, his voice a mutter. "I can hear the pacing."

Dipper paused, sighing. "Sorry." He had wanted to avoid that since Bill could use all the sleep he managed to get. "Do you need me to leave?" The living room was probably available, he doubted anybody would be awake anymore.

"No," Bill grumbled. "That won't help, I'll just hear you outside. What's stressing you, doll?"

"I could go on a walk," he offered, leaving out the latter part of that sentence: then never return because it was Los Santos and walking at night in some areas was incredibly dangerous, even with his expert knowledge of the layout. "Unless you think you'd still hear me." Dipper assumed he'd have to answer the question eventually, knowing Bill would continue to press, but he wanted a moment to gather his thoughts.

Bill pulled the blanket tightly around himself. "Probably, I can't get the pacing noises out of my head. Hey cutie, you never answered my question."

"I thought all you had in your head was 'You Spin Me Round' on repeat." Dipper walked toward the bed, taking a seat on the edge of Bill's side. "Yeah, I know. I guess there's not a lot to tell, just another nightmare." But the difference had been not feeling any anxiety over it, as if that'd been turned off.

"Thought those might've stopped," was the murmured response he received. It was possible, as he didn't know precisely what'd caused him to wake up when he couldn't recall the nightmare and didn't have signs of panic. "Are you okay, sugar?"

Flopping onto his back over Bill's legs, he stared through the skylight but saw nothing but wispy clouds. "I think so, kind of. I'm not.. anxious about it, if that's what you're asking." Physically, he was fine. Mentally, he was confused, maybe a pinch concerned by his unresponsive emotions. "The medication might be starting to work." Bill had warned that it'd take a while to make a change, but the sole change he'd noticed was a new loss of emotions.

Bill shifted beneath him, yawning. "If you're sure, doll. You gonna join me again?"

"I wanted to pace, but you didn't like that," he pointed out but was already moving to reposition on top of Bill, propping himself on his elbows. "What about you? How're you doing with your medication?"

"Oh, my dick is in a constant state of hard because of it," Dipper scrambled off of him, unwilling to test the validity of his statement firsthand, "but that's fine. It's good. I don't like it much, being medicated."

Frequently entertaining feelings of the same variety, Dipper understood, nodding slowly. Even so, he asked, "Why? Isn't it helping?" It seemed to be, his outbursts didn't happen often, and they weren't as sudden or extreme when they did.

Bill shrugged. "Helps. I just don't like being drugged, doll."

His mind drifted back to the incident with the soap water bucket. While Bill normally would've snapped at him for it or reacted harshly, he hadn't been too upset, but Dipper did wonder if he'd overstepped a boundary. "Remember yesterday," or maybe it'd been the day before, "when we were cleaning the remainder of the gasoline off the carpet? Did I— was that…" he struggled for the correct words, "Was it an issue, what I did?" Granted, Bill hadn't used the safeword, but still...

"What?" At first, Bill seemed confused. "It wasn't an issue at all, sugar. I even forgot about it."

Dipper relaxed upon hearing that, but questioned, "You seemed pretty mad at one point?" It'd been brief, but it was there.

Bill let out a small huff. "Nah, been over it. I'm not sure why you're bringing this up."

"Like I said, I thought you were angry about it," Dipper explained, "and that maybe I'd pushed things too far." He had added to Bill's work, and soaked the lower half of his slacks in soapy water, but he'd returned the favor by completely drenching his shirt in the liquid to mop it up.

"Pine Rose, we have a safeword. If you pushed a boundary, you'd have heard it."

"Alright," Dipper said with a faint grin, relieved that it hadn't been a problem. "Do you want to go back to sleep, or will your apparently-perpetual arousal impede that?"

He suppressed a yawn. "Come sleep with me, cutie. It's too early to be awake."

* * *

[1530382457 - session 6 | 1530424049 - session 7]

"Pine Tree?"

Bill peered down at Dipper's near motionless form with concern, confused as to why he was acting strangely. When Bill had gotten up, Dipper hadn't moved… he  _never_  did that. Dipper always woke up before Bill, he was the one that pestered Bill into waking up (a routine he didn't realize he would miss), and he never lounged around in bed. "Pine Tree?" He repeated himself, more firmly this time as he reached to shake his shoulder.

Dipper let out a muffled hum and shifted slightly, seemingly coming to consciousness. Since that was working, Bill gave him another shake for good measure, and to his satisfaction that was enough to convince Dipper to flutter his eyes open lazily. Peering around the room, he blinked a few times, but his eyes retained the glossed-over look. Voice slow and hoarse with sleep, he mumbled, "Why're you shaking me?"

"Why are you still in bed?" Bill questioned. "I'm never up before you. What gives?"

Sitting upright, Dipper rubbed at his eyes, as if trying to clear the sleep away. "What time is it?"

He wasn't sure why it mattered what time it was, what was important was Dipper's abnormal behavior. "Past eleven," he said. "You're usually up by nine. Are you sick or something, Pine Tree?"

"I'm not sick, just…" a yawn ended the explanation early, and Dipper was sliding back down into bed, tightening the sheets around himself. "Just tired. Gonna sleep a bit more."

"Are you sure you're okay?" he pushed, not buying it. "You can tell me if you aren't, cutie."

"Mm-hmm, I'm fine," Dipper reassured, the words rolling languidly off his tongue as if he was falling back asleep. That had to be a record of some sort. Bill would have felt envious if he hadn't been preoccupied with thoughts of worry and doubt instead, though they were lessened by Dipper's teasing huff, "Buzz off already."

That little shit. His annoyance was minimal but even so, Bill shot him a glare, not caring that he couldn't see it with his eyes closed. With Dipper snoozing again, Bill folded, stepping away from the bed to head out and begin his day. He had things to do… he'd check back in with Dipper later.

Several hours had passed. Hell,  _more_ than several hours had passed. No sign of Dipper. Bill could be patient though, he could wait. Maybe the kid was just drawing or tangled in one of his stupid daydreams or conspiracy theories. Or a book, he did that a lot too.

In the meantime, Bill had decided to take on a job, partly to waste time and cure his boredom. It was a simple mission– go in, kill a guy, steal his ring for his bitch of an ex, get out. He'd need to call her and tell her the deed was done, but that was fine. As long as he got paid, he didn't care.

After leaving the penthouse and taking care of business, it was past ten when he returned. Concerningly, he hadn't received a text from Dipper all day, plus it gave him the impression Dipper never left the bed. The fucker.

With that in mind, the first thing he did was burst to his bedroom, making as much noise as possible in the process while he walked over to where Dipper laid, curled into the sheets. It was disappointing to see his suspicions were correct. "Pine Tree," he said with some frustration, staring down at the sleepy Dipper. "Being tired doesn't equal sleeping all day. Have you even used the restroom?"

"Mm?" was the pitiful reply, Dipper giving a yawn while he stretched. Looking at Bill, his eyelids drooped like he still hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep, and he seemed to be waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkness. "Bill?"

"Pine Tree. Have you gotten out of bed?" He peered down at him, searching his face. "Your lips look like raisins."

"Not really," he mumbled remorsefully, then glanced around the room. "It's dark in here. Is it evening already?"

Bill narrowed his eyes at him. "It's ten in the evening." How could Dipper not know?

At that, he seemed fully alert now. "Seriously?" There was the slightest hint of alarm in his reply, followed by astonishment. "I slept that long?"

"Yeah, what the fuck? First you had weird food cravings, then you got nauseous from scents. Now you're sleeping all damn day." That was three strikes. "What, are you pregnant?"

That actually elicited a little laugh from Dipper, and he joked, "Pretty hard to get pregnant from eye contact and making out, but I guess here we are."

Bill backed away, internally wincing at the thought of a pregnancy. "Guess I gotta ditch, see ya never."

"Okay, bye," he said with a shrug, back to getting cozy within the sheets and pillows. "I'm keeping your room."

"You wish." Bill waved him away. "Seriously, are you feeling okay, cutie?"

Dipper hesitated, then nodded. "I feel okay. Slightly groggy, but I slept all day, so that comes with the territory. You don't have to be worried, Bill." He wasn't! Not at all, and he didn't know where Dipper got such ideas. "I'm not sick."

If he wasn't sick, why did he sleep for a full day? Was it the medication? It couldn't be, that wasn't a side effect. "I don't believe you," he informed him. "Sleeping all day isn't normal. You need to eat. Now."

Although he looked like he wanted to shoot back a sharp retort, eventually Dipper conceded with a sigh and started to shuffle out from under the mountain of sheets. "Alright, fine, let's go make something to eat."

* * *

[1530465936 - session 8]

It'd been hard, but Dipper forced himself out of bed at a reasonable hour, or at least as 'reasonable' as he could manage since he didn't even feel like getting up. His sole motivator was knowing that Bill would be upset with him if he didn't.

It was another day of the same routine: Bill had woken up first, which was becoming the norm, and asked if he'd be getting up soon. Dipper would promise he was, then proceed to try to get as much sleep as he could before running the risk of facing an unhappy Bill.

And that was where he was now, sloppily tugging on articles of clothing so he could join the rest of the penthouse's residents in the living room. He'd heard them talking but hadn't cared enough to find out what was going on, his curiosity somehow severely diminished.

Departing from the bedroom and dragging himself over to the sofa, Dipper realized Soos and Wendy were also here, and Stan was giving the rest of the crew the details of an upcoming heist. To his disappointment there was no Mabel, he recalled she was out with her friends; he was pretty sure Stan was specifically timing his heist introductions to avoid when Mabel was around, probably to ensure she didn't interrupt them with requests to be a part of it.

Dipper didn't bother turning the television on, deciding he'd done enough to appease Bill and hopefully convince him he wasn't ill. He'd put on clothes, gotten out of bed, and was laying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Bill couldn't yell at him for staying in bed this time.

Stan trailed off after a while. "Kid, what's going on?" Dipper's attention snapped to Stan, looking over the back of the sofa to stare at the others in the crew. "You're not pestering us like ya usually do."

It was true, he hadn't once offered to help with the mission or even acknowledged them. Dipper hadn't thought to do any of that. "Oh, uh…" he tried to remember what the heist was about, but nothing came to mind. "I could help out?" There, it was nice and vague, but would hopefully appease Stan.

"Ya don't even sound enthusiastic," Stan said, shaking his head. "What the hell happened to ya?"

Dipper didn't know how to respond to that, and he shrugged lightly. But since it seemed Stan didn't have anything more to say to him and was continuing with the mission plan, he slipped onto the balcony.

Outside, he allowed himself to be engulfed by the rush of warm air, and he leaned against the railing, eyes on the city below. It appeared as it always did, hot and stuffy and busy, a concrete jungle struggling against overpopulation and pollution.

He remembered the night he'd looked down at Los Santos and considered ending everything, how he couldn't get his racing mind and grief to leave him alone long enough to compose his thoughts. And now, it was as if he had the opposite problem; there wasn't enough, it felt like no emotions remained in his being.

No motivation, just numbness.

It wasn't a mystery, though. It was easily attributed to the sertraline since that'd been the only change, and he knew it had the potential to alter his brain chemistry. It was a bit of a crapshoot  _how_ it would change it, but there were some benefits such as a lack of nightmares, and a complete loss of anxiety. The only issue was that everything else had gone with it.

And that… that was depressing. Dipper frowned, resting his hand against his cheek in defeat as he slumped against the barrier, uncertain of what to do from here. In a way, it was hard to resist the urge to just cross over the railing and let himself fall, becoming as physically lifeless as he felt emotionally. It wouldn't make a difference anyway.

Mildly concerned by that train of thought, he figured he should quit the medication and tell Bill what was wrong, but the mere idea resulted in a painful reminder.

Bill was also taking medication, which seemed to be helping smooth out his mood swings, and  _he_ was the reason that Bill was taking it. He'd said so himself, it was him that'd inspired Bill to take charge of his own mental health, so if he stopped...

Dipper didn't want to be why Bill fell back into an unmedicated state when it was benefiting him. That wasn't an option.

* * *

[1530557461 - session 10]

Waking up alone didn't bother him anymore when it elicited no real feelings either way. It was simply… neutral, not positive or negative. Bill was already gone, probably doing some freelance job, and that meant he was welcome to stay in bed a bit longer while avoiding the rest of the world.

On the bright side, he was pretty sure he was alone since Stan and Ford had mentioned going to the firing range for target practice, and Mabel had begged to go with them until they finally relented.

Shifting to his other side, Dipper came face-to-face with the little pill bottle that contained the sertraline but didn't make a move to take the daily dose. Not only had he lost interest in the medication, but it seemed to be in favor of self-preservation if he stopped. Perhaps he would just throw away the pills to create the impression he was still taking them, since he didn't want to be what triggered Bill to quit taking his.

Grabbing his phone instead, Dipper sent a text message to Bill.

 **(11:53 AM)**  Where are you?

 **(11:53 AM)**   _on a job_

 **(11:53 AM)**  Okay

 **(11:55 AM)**  It's quiet

 **(11:55 AM)**   _what, did stan finally shut his yap?_

 **(11:55 AM)**  Not here, they all went to the firing range

 **(11:56 AM)**   _what the fuck?_

 **(11:56 AM)**   _i told them to not leave you alone_

 **(11:56 AM)**   _i'm going to fucking kill them_

Dipper didn't know what the problem was or why Bill was so upset over the others leaving, he could handle being alone and actually preferred it this way since there was nobody to pester him. He could be on his own with his thoughts and sleep if he wanted to, without having to worry about one of them forcing him to participate in daily activities.

 **(11:59 AM)** _pine tre_ e

 **(11:59 AM)**   _pine tree_

 **(12:01 PM)**   _fucking talk to me_

Dipper stared blankly at the messages and set his phone aside, deciding he'd get to that later. For now, he guessed he should probably shower and then afterward, maybe could draw in the sketchbook a bit before taking a nap, assuming he felt like doing something more.

Ignoring subsequent vibrations from his phone, Dipper drifted to the bathroom attached to their room, stopping in front of the mirror. He looked like a wreck with sunken eyes and atrocious hair, but..

But he supposed it didn't matter, a shower would probably fix that.

Collecting a towel for himself, Dipper was about to step into the shower but paused as a shiny metal caught his eye. He immediately recognized it as Bill's razor, and a morbid curiosity overtook Dipper, convincing him to pick up the tool while fascination glowed in his otherwise dull gaze.

In the shower, Dipper found momentary comfort in the water splashing over his skin and hair, but his attention was primarily on the razor that hadn't left his hand. He knew this was dangerous, a stupid idea probably, but he couldn't resist.

Dipper pressed the metal to his skin, enjoying the coolness of it in contrast to the hot water— he was careful to avoid pushing it in too hard, nor did he slide the razor. Cutting himself wasn't the goal. All he wanted to do was get a rise from this, a reaction. Fear, panic, anything but this total emptiness. Something to reassure him that his emotions weren't nonexistent.

Becoming more daring, he let it drift over the underside of his arm, along the soft, pale flesh. Dipper was almost entranced by it, so very tempted to push down or jerk his wrist, though he knew that would cause the sharp metal to slice through his skin and leave a crimson trail in its wake.

Despite the overwhelming desire to cave to the call of the void, Dipper gave up on trying to elicit an emotion from himself and set the razor aside, choosing to finish his shower instead. A nap was becoming more appealing than playing with sharps.

* * *

[1530563030 - session 11]

With two coffees in hand, Bill stepped into the penthouse all the while being careful not to accidentally spill one. The employee had overfilled the mug, coating the lid in a sea of oozing coffee. He had sipped it down, but the sweet taste of Dipper's coffee left him regretting that decision. How did he even  _drink_  that shit?

It had to be a hipster thing.

Heading into his room, his voice was a hum. "Hey cutie, I'm back!" A little early, but the job had wrapped up nicely, and rushing over here with coffee had probably helped. "And I have coffee! We can drink them together, I just gotta wash up a bit!" Some of the coffee had dripped onto his hands. It was sticky and disgusting.

His entrance had garnered the attention of Dipper, who looked up from his sketchpad. Although he was still technically in bed, it was a relief that the kid wasn't still asleep. Again. "Oh, thanks," he answered, sounding somewhat surprised either by the coffee or the fact he was back early.

Bill set the coffees down on the end table and left for the bathroom to wash his hands. As he turned on the water, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye– the shower curtain was drawn back, and he could see his razor. In a different spot where he'd left it. What the fuck was the kid doing? He didn't shave…

That only left one thing as Bill shook the water from his hands and approached the razor, snatching it in a vice grip and walking into the bedroom to face the inevitable confrontation. "Pine Rose." His voice was quiet, but it was still enough to bring Dipper's gaze to him, and when he saw the razor in his hand, his face drained of color. He immediately averted his eyes. So he knew. How could he… how could he  _do this_?

They could deal with the 'why' of the situation later, there were more important things to address. "Take off your clothes," he demanded, Dipper already looked slightly ashamed of himself, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't… I can't believe you right now. Did you cut yourself?"

"No," he responded, voice cracking, "I didn't do anything with it."

But how could he believe him? It was so incredibly easy to slice open the skin with a razor. "I asked you to take off your clothes, sugar. I need to… I need to make sure." It was no longer a demand but a gentle coaxing.

"Okay." It sounded so small, but off. Emotionless. Shedding the articles, Dipper was soon stripped of his pajamas, defensively curling in on himself with his knees flush against his chest. He gave a weak mumble, "I really didn't do anything." 

Bill examined him closely, looking for any cuts along his body. Once he was done with his torso and arms, he checked his legs, hand slipping up his boxers to lightly feel his thighs. Luckily, there didn't seem to be any cuts, but he still noted the way Dipper quivered even after he'd redressed. Bill's jaw set tightly, but it wasn't in frustration. "Cutie," he murmured as he set the razor near the coffees and pulled Dipper close. "Why would you think about doing that?"

Dipper didn't answer at first, keeping his eyes anywhere but on him, chewing his lower lip. Bill wanted to prompt, force him to respond, but it was obvious the kid's mind was reeling; he had the recognizable look of contemplation plastered on his features. And finally, he said, "It's complicated."

Great, that clearly explained everything.

"I.. I don't know what it is," Dipper went on, "but I guess I wanted to see what would happen, if that makes sense?"

"You'd bleed."

Dipper sighed, leaning into him. "I've been having thoughts like that recently. It's— uh, suicidal ideation? And it wasn't like I was planning to cut myself."

Bill shifted, frowning. Was it his fault Dipper was unhappy? He hadn't thought he'd done anything wrong recently, but… why else would Dipper consider killing himself? "What did I do?" his voice was a whisper, unaware of his own shaking.

Dipper was visibly puzzled. "What?"

"You want to kill yourself," he said. "I don't know… what I did to make you feel like that, but I'm sorry. Don't hurt yourself, Pine Rose." He couldn't lose him, especially not like that.

"You didn't do anything," Dipper said quickly, closing the distance and nuzzling into him. He gave a shuddering exhale, seemingly breaking at the seams. "That's a bit of an overstatement, though. I don't think I want to kill myself, it's— it's just this indifference. It's like I'm a zombie, and I can't take it anymore."

Bill wasn't sure to what extent he should be believing him. He couldn't understand how someone could… run a razor across their skin without wanting to die to some degree. "Yeah," he murmured. "I can see you as a zombie, you haven't been very lively lately. Is there… anything I can do, doll?"

"Please don't be mad," he started, "but I'm pretty sure it might be the pills. They're nice for taking care of anxiety, but the rest of my emotions are gone too. That's what I was doing with the razor, I just really wanted to feel  _something_ other than numbness."

He wasn't mad. Or at least, he didn't think he was. Bill got it. The medicine fucked with his brain, it caused… sometimes unwanted changes. Bill knew from experience that it was highly individualized. Medications had varying success, and all it meant was that this particular one didn't work for Dipper. "Sertraline can do that in some people," he told him gently. "It's not your fault, cutie."

After a pause, Dipper said tentatively, "I'm going to stop taking it. This— having no emotions is worse than the anxiety attacks, because at least before I cared about stuff and had the motivation to get up everyday."

Bill obviously wouldn't protest that and probably would've advised the same. He couldn't be on something that made him feel like that. "Okay." In a sense, it was unfortunate he was going off the anxiety medication, but it was understandable when they gave Dipper suicidal thoughts. It wasn't worth risking his safety, and Bill was relieved it hadn't gone further than it had. The thought of being without Dipper...

No. He didn't want to consider that. 

Bill tugged him closer, in this moment never wanting to let go. "If you need anything– anything at all, let me know, okay Pine Rose? Like… if you need emotional support, or if you ever wanted to look into a different type of SSRI."

"Emotional support, from you?" Dipper murmured with a barely-audible laugh, pulling back to gaze at him. "Thanks, I will. But uh," he looked away, "about the SSRI… thing. We can tackle that eventually, but maybe not right away. I just want to recover from this, get back to normal."

Fortunately, it wouldn't take long for the medication to leave his system. "You should be back to normal within a couple days of not taking the SSRIs," Bill said. "Then you should be feeling better."

"Alright." Dipper was quiet for a few seconds, chewing his bottom lip again, then began to ramble, "About your medication… You're not going to stop, are you? I wanted to tell you a while ago but didn't because I was worried you'd quit taking it, since you said I was the reason you started in the first place—"

"Pine Rose," his laugh was short. "I'm not going to stop. Don't worry about that, okay?" It wasn't like his medication made him suicidal.

Dipper relaxed once more, returning a ghost of a smile. "Okay."

Relaxing since it seemed they wouldn't have to worry about this in the near future, Bill brushed his nose against Dipper's. "Now, do you want to enjoy some coffee with me? It should be cooled off enough to drink easily." Hopefully it wouldn't be room temperature. He couldn't imagine trying to drink the cold sweetness that was Dipper's coffee.

"Yeah," he said with a nod but didn't move away just yet. With an underlying playfulness that he hadn't heard in days, Dipper added, "I know you're not thrilled about my decision to stop taking medication, but you're not allowed to slip it into my coffee."

Oh. Bill half-forced a small laugh. "I'd never do that, cutie!" Yes, he did drug Dipper's coffee in the past, but that wasn't something he planned to do anymore. Dipper didn't need to know. "Here, I'll grab them." He rose to grab their coffees, passing one to Dipper and looking forward to a totally non-romantic coffee date with his favorite person, his heterosexual life partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be 150% clear- this isn't intended to read as anti-medication. Dipper simply had an unfortunate reaction to it.
> 
> Also, maybe Sunday/Monday for the next update.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like mega updates, this is a longer one. Next update is probably Wednesday.
> 
> Warning(s): violence, sexual content (some light kink.)

The click of a call ending alerted Bill to the conclusion of Stan's three-way communication with Soos and Wendy. Bill knew he had been discussing details of the job to them, something about securing a getaway vehicle and strategic placement, but he was finding it difficult to care when it didn't directly involve him at this second.

Dipper shuffled beside him, uncomfortably tugging at the seatbelt, then at the fabric of his combat vest. "I feel squished from every angle." He kind of was, having been directed to sit between him and Mabel since Dipper was the smallest of the trio. "Not a fan of the middle seat," he groused, shifting his weight again, "or being between two guns."

As much as he loved his pistol, Bill couldn't give less of a damn about Mabel's gun. She only had it as a precaution so they would be ready to defend themselves if they ran into trouble. That risk was minimal, which was good news for them since she hardly had any training with it too, making her about as useful as Soos shooting Stan in the foot.

"Please," Bill murmured. "You're always by my gun, cutie. And boy do you make him excited sometimes."

"I thought you were going to make some stupid comment about sitting on your lap, but somehow you made it worse."

Bill chuckled. "You love my  _erectus manius_." A chorus of his name followed:

" _Bill_." One from the wide-eyed Dipper.

"Cipher!" And the other from a displeased Ford, who was looking at him through the rearview mirror. "I realize this is not a formal heist, but you ought to strive to maintain  _some_  professionalism, as it's still a job. Furthermore, a job you specifically were asked to do."

Pride shining in his eyes, Bill paid no heed to the warning and instead puffed his chest, once again reminded of how damn skilled he was at these sorts of jobs, so skilled that clients were calling up Stan and asking for him by name. Bill Cipher, the guy they could trust to get their stolen luxury cars where they needed to go. In fact, he probably could've done this job entirely by himself— a driver was the only  _necessary_ role, but Stan had thrown Dipper and Mabel into the mix as his navigator and gunwoman, respectively, muttering something about how this wouldn't be a dangerous mission but might get the kids off his back.

In Bill's opinion, that was wishful thinking. This measly job wouldn't be interesting enough to satiate their desire for a real heist, this was simply driving a car from Point A to Point B for a client that wanted to keep the heat off his own back. It'd be an easy paycheck, a breeze, pure Sunday moneys.

Ford shook him from his thoughts with a demanding question, "Cipher, are you even listening to me?"

"He's probably too busy fantasizing about me," Dipper offered, "or himself."

Mabel made a face. "Talk about narcissism!"

Although Dipper wasn't wrong in the latter regard, that was because Bill was so amazing, and all signs pointed to Mabel being jealous of how fantastic he was. Why else would she bring up narcissism? Lying, Bill said, "I was pondering how  _unprofessional_  it was to give a gun to a girl with little to no firearm training, then put her in a stressful situation where her life could potentially be on the line."

Dipper perked up, alarmed. "Wait, our lives are potentially on the line?"

"Pay him no mind, he's being obtuse," Ford huffed.

Stan glanced back. "It won't be a stressful job, kids! Ignore him– we're just relocating a stolen vehicle. Everything'll go smoothly."

Unfazed by his previous statement, Mabel beamed at Bill. "Don't get that dapper bowtie in a ruffle, I went to the firing range. I got this!"

As if ensuring his bowtie actually wasn't ruffled, Dipper leaned over to straighten the ends. Bill noted that his little teeny tiny hands were shaking, despite Stan and Ford's reassurances. Interesting. "Hey Squished Tree," he said to him. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, just.." Dipper squirmed again, rolling his shoulders as if the combat vest was bothering him. Huh, he had the lighter one too. "It's only our second job, and this one feels like a big step."

"It's not. This isn't a big deal," Bill reassured him. It probably wouldn't be, not in comparison to entering a military base and stealing government property.

There was a vibrating noise, and after a moment, Ford reported, "Soos says he and Wendy are on their way, and they'll have two vehicles parked in the drop off location."

Bill glanced to the front. "Is one of them gold or yellow?" If not, they needed to get a new one.

The stern response came swiftly, "That's unimportant, and I feel no particular inclination to ask."

"Shot down!" Mabel near-yelled. "'Cause I have a gun… get it? GET IT?"

Dipper let out a light, nervous chuckle. "I think we got it."

He gave her a blank stare, annoyed by her comment. "Fordsy," he didn't bother with the codename, figuring there was no point in deploying them on a mission when they weren't using the radio system, "if it's not either of those colors, I'm not driving it."

"Alright," Ford exhaled in frustration. "If you refuse to get behind the wheel of the getaway vehicle… Dipper or Mabel can drive you back, or simply leave you behind. Whatever they wish to do."

"I can't drive," Dipper pointed out. "I mean, I  _could_ , but.. I just have a permit and basically no experience."

"Ooh, I wanna drive! I can pick up Candy and Grenda afterward, and we can have a sleepover! Girl party at the penthouse!" Ignoring Ford's wince and Stan's uncertainty, Mabel smacked her brother on the back encouragingly. "Don't be jealous, Dippy, you're invited too!"

Oh, Bill would like that, a sleepover at the penthouse. The ladies—including  _his_  lady—stripping to their panties and hitting each other with pillows, giggling away as the blows bounced off their soft girl-bodies. Maybe he could ask to film it, they probably wouldn't mind. He could use it for himself… then make a profit through putting it online. Yes, he enjoyed that idea. "Pine Rose," he cooed, ever-so-sweetly. "You should join them. You'd look so cute in those panties of yours."

"Clearly, you've never been to a girls' slumber party." Dipper stared at him, considering. "But look, if Mabel and her friends actually do that, I'll join them."

"I know enough about them that you'll be having a pillow fight naked." Bill grinned at him. "You should let me film."

"You do realize that Pornhub is not a reliable source?"

He never said he used Pornhub! … Okay, maybe he did. "Why'd you jump to that, cutie?"

There was a grumbling from the passenger seat. "My request for professionalism could not have gone more unheard."

"Get over it," Bill snapped at him. "You're the one bringing an inexperienced gungirl onto this job." This was admittedly the second time he'd used that against Ford, and he looked approximately twice as irritated.

"Are we here?" came Mabel's question, laced with excitement. Outside the window, a decorated, architecturally-gorgeous mansion with an expansive lawn and fountains loomed. The car, the one he assumed they were supposed to move, was curb parked near the metal gates. "Everything is so PRETTY!"

Stan confirmed her thoughts. "We are, sweetie. Are ya ready to roll out? We gotta move fast. The pigs are probably lookin' for this car by now. Give us a call if ya need anything, we'll be lingering around the city to run a few errands. Bill, don't get these kids killed, ya got that?"

"Loud and clear," Bill answered. He'd try to not, but he couldn't promise anything. The sole promise he'd made had been to mercy-kill Dipper if the situation called for it, and in turn the kid would take care of his lovely dogs in the afterlife.

Dipper rubbed at his arms apprehensively, but Mabel was unclipping her seatbelt, throwing herself on Dipper in the briefest of hugs and then rushing out of the vehicle. "Let's go!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill watched this, bristling slightly. Why was Mabel the only one to get a Dipper hug? Was Bill not  _good enough_ for him? How was he not, he was  _Bill_ , the greatest gangster to ever live? "Where's my hug?" he demanded toward Dipper.

"Probably hanging out with your modesty?" Dipper suggested, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Don't be jealous, Bill." Leaning over, Dipper's eyes closed as he pecked him on the nose— if he knew the kid, he was acutely aware of the disapproving looks they were getting from Stan and Ford, and wouldn't push things further than that.

Bill wasn't jealous, he wasn't gay, and he sure as hell didn't get the tiniest bit erect when Dipper kissed his nose like the cute bastard he was. "Don't be a little fuck, Pine Rose." He scowled gently at Dipper, reciprocating the peck with a kiss on the lips. He jolted back when teeth snagged his lower lip  _hard_ , shooting a glare at him. "Guess you don't want my Sweet Loving."

"Nobody wants that, and also we should get going before Mabel leaves without us."

Once they'd collected last supplies from the trunk, Bill approached the vehicle and opened the door. The keys were inside and waiting, just as the client had promised.

"Whoever owned this wasn't just wealthy," Dipper commented in awe, getting in the passenger side and looking around the interior. "They had to be Cipher-level wealthy."

Mabel peered at Dipper from the backseat, eyes wide. "Is that why you hang around Bill so much? Is he your sugar daddy? I always knew you'd be a sugar baby!"

At first, Dipper didn't seem to know how to answer that. "Um… no. If I was, I can safely say a huge component of our agreement isn't being held up." And Bill knew exactly what that was, tempted to tell Dipper it was time to pay his end of the bargain.

Bill chuckled faintly as he started the vehicle, listening to the hum of the engine. "She's almost as beautiful as you, darling."

That seemed to catch Dipper by surprise, the kid staring owlishly at him, blinking like he couldn't believe it. Then he reddened a little and shifted in his seat, sputtering a few words of appreciation under his breath. Clearing his throat, Dipper asked, "So, if you're ready… Do you want me to take you through backroads?"

"I'd rather take the shortest way possible," Bill responded. "Through the city."

"The highway?" Dipper frowned. "If the cops are looking for this vehicle like Stan said they were, they're going to recognize us if we take that route."

Bill grinned at him. "That's why we'll be  _great_  citizens and make sure the cops can't keep up with us."

"Are you seriously thinking we can outrun them? We're going all the way to Procopio Beach." Dipper seemed unconvinced, but Bill was shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. "Backroads won't take us that much longer."

There wasn't any fun in taking the backroads, and Bill was set on doing this his way. Putting his foot on the gas, the car accelerated, and soon they were out of the neighborhood and on the exit to the highway. The speedometer was climbing, and Bill glanced down to see it was gradually reaching the seventies, then eighties, then nineties.

"Whee!" Mabel squealed at the increase in speed. "It's like flying!"

Bill wished Dipper could be a bit more like his sister and loosen up about this. Instead, he could see his hands clenched on the console and the armrest. By the time they'd reached nearly one hundred miles per hour, Dipper tensely questioned, "Remember what Stan said about  _not_  killing us?"

"Come on, Dippy! You need to relax, this is fun!"

Traffic was a pain as always, and Bill had to weave through vehicles to keep his pace. He could feel the back of the car fishtail from the swerving, and he was barely able to keep it under control. "We're fine, cutie!"

Deep breaths resounded beside him, and he could see Dipper easing his death grip on the features of the car. Good, a navigator that was too panicked to do anything was useless to him, and to his relief, he began to dig the GPS unit out. "If we keep this speed, I think we'll be there in about twenty minutes, maybe less."

Every now and then, Dipper would look up at the road, then back to the device, advising Bill of when and where to lane change and generally being another set of eyes. In the back, Mabel was ooh-ing and aweing at the sights, giving the rare complaint that there was nothing to do as the gunwoman on this mission.

"Hey, uh," Dipper spoke suddenly, neck craned as he looked out the window, "I think that was an officer that we just passed." Almost instantly, his mirrors exploded in red and blue lights, and the familiar, ear-shattering siren. "Yep."

It was a mild irritant, a pest they would have to outrun, but Bill wished he was in one of his personal vehicles. If he had been, this wouldn't be an issue. But as it was, he couldn't exactly call in a favor from Preston, especially not with the kids around. How unfortunate, he hoped Preston's force had enough of a budget to replace the officers he'd likely lose tonight. For now, he'd have some fun, and he pressed down on the gas harder, the force of it shooting the vehicle forward and leaving the engine whining.

"What's the plan?" Dipper asked stiffly. Almost as if he'd preemptively considered the possibilities himself, he began rambling, "I suppose we could try to keep going, but it's sort of fifty-fifty because they might send more of the force after us, or we could find an exit and get away from them that way,  _or_ —"

Bill had the best plan. "Good news, Shooting Star! Now's your time to shine, show us your gun expertise. Get that pig in his fucking head."

Dipper protested, "No, Mabel, don't! That'll just make things  _worse_ , they'll send more vehicles, and it'll be a blue alert and—  _Mabel_!"

Mabel was already partially out the window, gun in hand as she tried to aim for the windshield behind them.

While he couldn't say the same for his copilot, Bill was proud of Shooting Star, especially when she started firing off that gun like she was texting her girlfriend.

In his mirror, he could see one bullet through the windshield induced swerving, but the chase raged on. What a sport. It was almost a shame one of Mabel's shots hit a tire, sending the officers spiraling out of control.

GPS unit forgotten, Dipper was scrambling for his phone, beginning to dial. "I can call Stan and Ford, right? That's not going to be an issue?" there was a strained breathiness to his words, like he was struggling for air. "I think they should probably know we're about to have the entire LSPD on us."

Bill didn't care, it wasn't like they were going to be traced with it. "Call Fordsy, Stan's driving." The reply was brief, he was focused on driving— maintaining a high speed and dodging vehicles required his full attention.

It wasn't long before they had new friends to join the party, as two police cruisers made an appearance in his rearview mirror, their partners returning fire on the stolen vehicle. Bill was proud of his driving ability– sure, the back was shot up some, but the windows were pretty intact! "Shooting Star," he hummed. "You know the drill!"

On the phone, he heard Pine Tree frantically talking about something or another with Fordsy on speakerphone, but he didn't tune into their conversation. It was probably Ford trying to walk the kid through safety measures and next steps, all of which Bill could handle himself. He didn't need a novice navigator to help him with it when he was still determined to outrun the law with sheer speed on his side, and having Shooting Star unloading bullets into them was a nice touch. Her aim wasn't perfect, but it was doing a great job of deterring them either by shooting the cops themselves or their tires.

Bill kept up his game of cat and mouse as he maneuvered through traffic, narrowly sliding by several vehicles in the process. The pigs were still behind him, and he could see some ahead– of course the Los Santos police would drive on the wrong side of the road.

"Stan and Ford are going to try to redirect some of the heat," Dipper reported to him, and Bill only nodded, eyes trained on the traffic surrounding them only to be passed within seconds. There was a cruiser ahead, looking like it was coming straight for them and closer with every passing second until the lights were reflecting off the entirety of the windshield. Glancing up, Dipper screeched, " _Holy shit_!"

A quick movement of Bill's hand had the wheel turning, steering them just barely clear of the danger and letting the cop enjoy a head-on crash with whoever was behind them. Bitches, they shouldn't have been tailgating!

In the backseat, he heard the near-constant firing and less frequent reloading of Mabel's gun, then the cycle would repeat. If successful, the sound of screeching tires or perhaps a metallic crash would join in the cacophony. All the while a low, taut noise coming from the engine remained in the background, a subtle reminder of their speed that was constantly pushed to the absolute maximum.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Dipper half-whined, sounding fearful. It was enough to momentarily draw his attention away from the road. "Bill— they're setting up spikes and a barrier near Braddock Pass." Ford must have been relaying him information from the police scanner. "We seriously can't stay on the highway anymore, and.. and now there are hardly any exits." They had left the city and were in the more rural part of San Andreas, so he was right; their opportunity to easily slip out an exit had passed, making this significantly more difficult.

To make matters worse, Braddock Pass was bad news. It was a mountainous area, a treacherous stretch even without police on their tail. If there was a barrier and spikes in their path, their options would be to run the risk by slamming into it, turn around and face the police chasing them, or barrel off the steep cliffs and hope it wasn't an instant death from the impact. They were trapped.

Bill was leaning toward taking the cliffs. "Are you sure there's no other way?" he demanded.

"I.. I guess there might be an exit? Hold on."

"Guys, there are a lot of them gaining on us!" Mabel said, an ounce of worry in her usually-cheerful voice. "Like, it's a whole fleet!" Bill could even  _hear it_ , with the harmonious sounds of rapid gunfire behind them, seeking to incapacitate or kill them. Well, that eliminated turning around as an option. If only they had some grenades, that'd clear up the porkies.

In his peripherals, he saw Dipper fiddling with the GPS unit and wondered if the kid had come up with an escape route yet, but all he heard was frustrated mutters and pleas to keep the police at bay for a while longer. Considering his available choices, it was almost tempting to slam on his brakes and watch as the cops smashed into the back and piled up. That'd put a damper on their chase, albeit likely fatal. For Shooting Star, at the very least.

"Can you get into the other lane? There's— there might be an exit that we can take," Dipper explained, voice rushed. "It's unmarked, but it'll take us toward the El Gordo Lighthouse, and I think we'll be able to find a spot to pull off there and wait until the heat dies down."

He could do that, but with one hand ruffling through his vest, he found one thing he was looking for– a sticky bomb. It was a little bulky, but he found it worth keeping around if they ever got in  _sticky_  situations.

"Jesus  _Christ_!" Dipper squealed, appearing horrified. "Is that a bomb?"

Bill hummed in response. "We'll watch the smoke pour out the doors, bring marshmallows, we'll make s'mores!" Ah, if only he had gotten that role, but he never had the chance. Maybe one day he'd bless the world with his rendition of J.D.

Dipper's reply was a panicked yell, "Dude, this is  _not_ the time! We're  _speeding toward our death_!"

Perhaps to spite Dipper, he continued louder, "We can smile and cuddle while the  _fire roars_!" But fine, he'd stop if the kid was going to be such a killjoy about it since he didn't want to face that wrath later. Without a second thought, he rolled his window down and chucked the bomb back at the cops.

It smashed into a windshield, detonating on impact. He was glad he'd tinkered with his supply of sticky bombs– it'd be a bitch to find the detonator while he was driving, and he wasn't going to risk Shooting Star fucking things up with a bomb.

Motioning wildly to his side, Dipper said, "The exit! It's— take it!"

Bill did, not bothering to change lanes as he veered right, their vehicle soaring off the highway and onto the backroad, the scenery shifting from highway to rural countryside.

"Okay, I don't know if you're familiar with this part of San Andreas but you need to stay in this lane, and.. and then follow the road until you can see the lighthouse in the distance," Dipper rattled on, seemingly reciting from memory rather than the GPS device, which had been cast aside.

Bill kept driving, unfamiliar with the area and paying special attention to the road to ensure he didn't land them in the ditch. The sirens were still in the distance, faded, but nevertheless there. And soon, he could see the lighthouse that his navigator had been referring to.

It was a rare occasion to see the kid look so entranced, so fascinated by something. Maybe he was made for this role. Dipper went on to explain, "It's a bit hidden but there's a— a spot you can pull over up here, turn right."

Now that the cops weren't immediately on their tail, Bill had slowed down considerably. The next right turn went much smoother than their transition onto the backroad. "Make another turn, and then pull over there," he said through an exhale, indicating the spot. "That road is unmarked on maps, they won't find us even if they think to come this way."

Bill obeyed, pulling the vehicle into the hidden spot and throwing the car in park. "Gonna turn her off so they can't see our lights if they come by."

Now that the vehicle was stopped, Dipper seemingly remembered the phone in his lap since Ford's voice rang out, forcefully asking for information on their status. "We're okay," he replied. When prompted for their location, he said, "We got off the highway and are close to the lighthouse, on a backroad. ..Yes, I promise we're fine." Ford gave a reminder to stick to backroads for the rest of the way, then the call ended.

Bill watched as Dipper closed his eyes and flopped against the back of the seat, the kid looking sweaty and exhausted after that. His chest still heaved erratically and he mumbled something about being glad he didn't see what happened 'back there', but to Bill's relief he seemed calm.

Making sure the headlights were off once the engine was killed, Bill silently exited the car in favor of a smoke. After that chase, he was craving for a treat. On his way out, he could hear Mabel chattering to Dipper about how fun that had been, but Dipper didn't seem to mind, distracted by recollecting himself.

Outside, Bill fished around in his pockets to find his pack of cigarettes, pulling it out and lighting one up. The taste of nicotine was divine, something he'd longed for all night. It was a nice, much needed break from the job.

When he was finished smoking, Bill stomped what remained into the dirt and returned to the car, taking it out of park to carry on with the mission. This time, he didn't fight against Dipper's idea to use backroads.

Wendy and Soos had gone their separate ways at the drop off point, and he, Dipper, and Mabel piled into the vehicle they'd placed to return to Los Santos. On their way to the penthouse, they'd picked up two extras in response to Shooting Star's constant pleading and nagging. Bill had been looking forward to the impending girly sleepover, but less so when he saw… them. They were not up to his standards, and quite frankly, he didn't think he wanted to see them in skimpy outfits partaking in a pillow fight. Monsters.

Pine Tree was another story altogether. Maybe he could still get him to do that… and film it.

Once they stepped into the penthouse, Bill realized something was off. Stan and Ford lingered awkwardly near the doorway to the kitchen, but Shooting Star and friends clearly didn't notice with how they scampered over to the sofa to begin their evening of girl talk, already screeching and making irritatingly loud sounds.

Dipper, however, stayed behind, which seemed to be what the brothers wanted because Ford addressed him first. "Ah, Dipper, we'd like to speak with you. Privately."

Head tilting in confusion, he said, "O..kay?"

With Stan walking into the kitchen, Ford motioned for him to join them. "Come." Dipper shot Bill a questioning glance, hesitating, then began to follow after the two.

Did Fordsy really think claiming something was private would keep Bill out? This was Pine Tree, therefore Bill had a right to be involved in important discussions. He didn't waste a moment in trailing after the trio into the kitchen.

Inside, Stan cleared his throat. "So kid, we wanted–" there was an annoyed sigh as Stan spotted him, appearing cross. "Bill, get out."

"No." Either they'd talk with Bill there, or they wouldn't be talking at all.

Ford frowned. "This doesn't involve you, Cipher."

Bill wrapped his arm around Dipper, pulling him close. "He's my heterosexual life partner, of course it involves me."

"Look, it's fine. Really," Dipper said. "Bill can stay, I don't mind." It seemed both were about to protest, but he went on, "If you don't allow him to stay, he'll just bug the hell out of me later and ask what we talked about until I want to pour bleach into my ears. He might as well stick around."

Stan grumbled under his breath. "Fine. Kid, I'm just gonna get straight to it – we wanted to invite ya to join the crew. And Mabel, but not around her pals. After some training, you'll be right up there with the rest of the crew, an' we could always use a damn good navigator for heists."

"Wait, you're inviting me to join? Why?" Dipper asked, visibly surprised as he shuffled from foot to foot.

"Ya know the city better than any of us, kid, makin' us look like tourists in comparison."

Ford blinked. "I don't understand. Is this.. genuinely shocking after the events of today's mission?"

"I guess not." Dipper shrugged, glancing away. "Can I take some time to think about it? I know Mabel wants to, so.. I won't have to be convincing her, but yeah."

Everything but an immediate, enthusiast 'yes' didn't align with his expectations. "Do you not want to join?" Bill turned to him in confusion. What was this?

Coldly, Ford said, "Do not attempt to sway his decision more than you undoubtedly have. This is part of the reason we told you to keep your distance, so you would have no emotional investment regardless." Through a mutter, Ford added, "But quite frankly, we had assumed you would go the other way."

Bill shot Ford a murderous glare. "Put a sock in it, asshat. I wasn't talking to you."

"He's right," Stan growled in return. "Ya weren't supposed to get attached, Bill. This is Dipper's decision– ya don't have the right to sway it. Think about it, kid."

Dipper seemed to be considering, but uncertain. "The job today was.. intense." Bill could've snorted, it wasn't as if they'd been on the verge of death, but he guessed this kid had different standards.

"Maybe ya two should take a couple days off… Dipper, you're not officially part of the crew, but ya have the time off if you want it."

"Yeah, yeah." They probably wouldn't be taking him up on that offer, but Bill turned his attention back to Dipper, extending a hand. "You coming, cutie?"

Dipper nodded but otherwise didn't move. "Uh, where are we going?"

Impatiently, Bill reached to take his arm, pulling him out of the kitchen to get away from the brothers. "Well, first I wanted to talk to you. In private– just you and me."

"Yeah, this isn't really a good time," Dipper commented. "Mabel's friends are here, Stan and Ford are here.. Unless you meant— oh, like, in your bedroom?"

"Where else would we go, doll? Come on, it'll only be a moment. It's important."

Once they were in his bedroom, Dipper took a seat on the edge of the bed while Bill ensured the door was locked because he didn't want any interruptions— there was nobody he wanted to talk to except the one already here. If someone tried to enter, he'd put a knife in their stomach.

Turning back to Dipper, Bill joined him on the bed. "Cutie," he murmured. "Why didn't you accept Stan's offer upfront?"

"I like to take my time and think about things," Dipper said, and Bill wondered if they needed to address the fact that Pine Tree apparently thought he was the stupidest person on the planet. Obviously this kid was a thinker, an overthinker, but even so, it was surprising that he hadn't agreed to join. "I just want to make sure this is what I really want to do." As he lowered to lay beside him, Dipper asked with some concern, "Does that bother you, that I didn't immediately join?"

Did it bother him? Bill wasn't quite sure… he was feeling something he wasn't sure he'd felt before, and he didn't like it. There was this fuzzy sensation he felt around Dipper and he wanted to squish it like a caterpillar. He wanted Dipper to stay. "It doesn't bother me," he said. "It's your choice, cutie. Do whatever you desire." And he'd try to support it. Maybe. Would Dipper be mad if he kidnapped him?

"Thanks," he said quietly, averting his gaze toward the skylight. Several seconds of silence passed between them, the only noise a soft thumping of Dipper's foot against the sheets. The kid was thinking about something and Dipper was looking back at him again, meaning he was about to find out what. "I want to think about it, but.. it's also what you said, kind of. I know you didn't mean it, or at least you claimed you didn't afterward, but that thing about being useless stuck with me."

It was intriguing that Stan had emphasized his importance in today's mission, but Dipper still clung to the dumb thing he'd said in anger. "Oh, cutie." Bill moved to wrap him in his arms, nuzzling his neck. "Can I be honest with you?" He didn't give him a chance to respond. "You were amazing on the job earlier. If you hadn't found that exit, I'd probably be Bill-own up."

After making a noise of disgust, Dipper squirmed to sprawl partially atop him, a faint smile working its way through his expression. "I, uh," a small laugh, "I guess I didn't know how badly I needed to hear that from you. Not the pun, though. That was awful, and I think I hate you." Leaning down to gently,  _teasingly_ brush their lips together, he murmured, "I've noticed I do save your ass quite frequently. First with Ivan, now today..."

Bill scowled up at him, though it wasn't very serious. "Don't make me leave, cutie." He didn't want to. He'd prefer more kisses.

"Nice threat, but.." Dipper moved to be completely on him. "You can't." That was nearly laughable, that his Pine Tree thought a paltry one hundred and thirty-five pounds would stop him from sitting up when he regularly carried the kid around.

Still, it didn't alter how brilliant Dipper had been earlier during the heist. "Cutie," he hummed to get his attention. "I enjoyed working with you today."

"I didn't." Then there was a pause, and a sigh and half-smile. "Okay, maybe.. a little. It was a lot rougher and more dangerous than I expected it to be, so thanks for that, you big jerk." It sounded far from offended, maybe affectionate more than irritated. "You're very, uh, quick-thinking on heists," Bill felt a trickle of pride, "but I always obsess over small details and overanalyze things. It was nice to do a job with you."

Bill smirked, kissing his head. "We should make the city bend beneath us, cutie. Take it by storm." Rule as a power couple, where Bill was king and Pine Tree was queen– but not in the gay Pentagram way. Bill desired the power that would come with being in control of the city, and he didn't care who he had to kill, even if it were Stan and the rest of the Owls. He could  _own them all_.

That ushered in a perplexed expression, and he looked so adorably dumbfounded, naive. "I guess..?"

Did the kid… not understand? "A power couple, Pine Rose. We could reign supreme over this fucking city and no one would  _dare_  oppress us."

"It was  _one_ job, that's a tiny sample size. I'll probably be terrible at everything else, and I'm not even familiar with.. this." Dipper vaguely motioned, his hand nearly swatting his cheek. "Any of it."

"Oh, don't be so worried cutie. Don't you remember? If anything goes wrong,  _I'll_  put you down myself so you don't suffer."

"I know."

But at this point, he didn't want him to be scared out of joining, so he changed the subject with an observation. "Honey, our dicks are touching."

Dipper flicked his nose. "Bill, no."

"It's like you want to ride the S.S. Bill," he teased, hands drifting to Dipper's hips to rub sensually at the hollowed space. "Take your boxers off cutie, let's see that tiny ass of yours."

"Oh my god." It was more forceful, but it was accompanied by a giggle. Bill drank in the sight of Dipper looking completely flustered. "Maybe in a bit. I'm tired after.. earlier. Getting chased down by most of the LSPD was about as stressful as I thought it'd be."

* * *

Well, it seemed girls actually didn't hang out in their panties and have pillow fights with one another, a fact he learned after he and Dipper had reemerged from his room a few hours later, refreshed from napping.

Stan and Ford weren't around anymore, probably either hiding away in their bedroom or out somewhere. It was like they didn't know how to entertain guests, how shameful.

That left him to do the job. Bill had started chatting it up with Candy and.. Grindo.. Glenda? Whatever, the fat one. Probably a good thing they weren't having underwear pillow fights.

And while they weren't particularly good company, about as interesting as a wet blanket to Bill, they were worth the annoyance of putting up with all evening because it was starting to have an intriguing effect on his Pine Tree. With each hour that passed as he talked to Mabel and her friends, Dipper seemed to be getting… moodier, and it was kind of funny, how he became increasingly short and pugnacious with him.

Definitely correlated to his interaction with the other ladies.

It started getting better yet when it seemed Candy had noticed his physical allure. Ooh la la, somebody finally realized what a hot body he had, and she had her eyes on the prize from how she was not-so-subtly flirting. When he returned her advances solely to get a rise out of Dipper, it seemed to work since it made him silently  _fume_. Bill didn't think he'd ever seen him like that, but there was certainly tension in the air with his obstinate behavior.

"Hey Pine Tree," he hummed to Dipper. "You should get me and my lady friends some drinks." Might as well make himself useful if all he was going to do was glare at him and brood from across the sectional like the cutie he was.

"Fine," was Dipper's snap of a reply, and Bill wondered how much venom that kid had stored in him. It seemed to know no end. Dipper all but stormed from the living room, but not before sending a sharp look his way. As if meeting the challenge, Bill pulled Candy and Mabel in closer, his arms around their shoulders as they sat on the sofa together.

When he returned, he distributed glasses of ice water to Mabel's friends, then Mabel, but paused in front of him, eyes still narrowed with contempt.

"Thanks, doll. You–"

Bill didn't get to finish the end of the sentence because the whole glass of ice water was suddenly thrown into his face. He recoiled the instant it hit him, standing up abruptly at the shock of the cold liquid striking his body. It didn't last long, leaving Bill very aware as to how wet his hair, shirt, and crotch were. The fucker. "What the fuck?" Although initially irked by the bombardment of water in his lap, his frustration was rapidly melting into amusement. Was Pine Tree  _jealous_  of his interactions with the girls?

Dipper's response was sarcastic, bitter. "Oh, did you want that  _in_ the glass?"

"Fuck off, Pine Tree." Bill wasn't in the wrong here– he was just having fun, Dipper attacked him with ice water! He ought to get him back in his sleep. With a mock glare in Dipper's direction, he brushed him aside to head to his room. Maybe if he acted like Dipper was out of line, he could get something out of it — manipulative, but Dipper knew that if he was actually upset, the safeword would've been used. In the meantime, he needed to change before he grew colder than he already was.

There was a loud sigh of frustration, and footsteps after him. "Bill, wait.."

Inside his room, he began to strip down, removing his coat and shirt, suspenders and bowtie, then working on his slacks.

"I know that was stupid," Dipper's voice resounded from the doorway as he stepped inside, closing it behind him. "I'm—" That sounded like it was the beginnings of an apology, but it caught on his tongue, and Bill glanced at him to see what'd stalled the rest. But Dipper.. Dipper looked apologetic, but he was also  _staring_ , those wide doe-eyes glued to him.

"Sugar, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, you didn't need to throw water at me to get it to happen."

"That wasn't…" Dipper glanced away, scowling. "You were doing that—  _flirting_ , intentionally."

Bill dropped his pants to the floor. "You threw water on me intentionally."

He watched the moment where the heat rose to Dipper's cheeks in a glorious flush, and he was trying so hard not to look but kept stealing the briefest of peeks. It was comical, how he seemed totally uncertain of what to do, how his throat worked but no words came. Finally, he settled on the smallest mutter of, "Bill."

"Yes, cutie?" The water had soaked through to his boxers, and he began to take them off. Dipper had seen his junk before, so Bill didn't really care. His dick would be in Pine Rose soon enough, and Dipper didn't seem opposed to that with how his pupils dilated with a familiar desire.

Under his breath, Dipper mumbled, "I fucking hate you. I can't believe you'd do that to make me jealous." And it'd worked like a charm, though Dipper didn't sound angry. If anything, his tone was provoking, like he aimed to rile Bill in return. "If you really want to have a threesome with Mabel's friends, then go do it, you asshat." A dark, maybe even playful, challenge was resting in his eyes as he sidestepped from the door, leaving the path open.

An expression of pure disgust crossed Bill's face. "The fucking Hulk is a huge turn off, and the other one reminds me of Hwang Jini if I had fucked her five hundred years ago. I'll pass, cutie."

"Oh?" Dipper's tone was a harsh taunt, but there was still no seriousness attached. "You're going to pass up your only chance at getting action?"

"I still have you, doll." He finished removing his boxers, discarding them to the side. He'd get dry ones later.

"Don't you dare touch me, dickwad."

"Mm," Bill took a step toward him. "You know you want me, doll."

A little growl formed in Dipper's throat as he made a half-hearted attempt at sounding intimidating, it was cute. "Yeah, want you to fuck off." Oh, but that couldn't be true, not with the way he made no move to leave his bedroom. If Dipper didn't want to be around him, he'd have ditched by now.

Undaunted, he continued to approach Pine Tree with a grin. "What're you going to do if I don't, sugar?"

Dipper bit his lip but his eyes flashed with determination, his fist swinging back only to shoot toward him in a pathetic attempt at a punch, which Bill easily caught. His grip tightened around Dipper's wrist and he yanked the kid forward, their mouths crashing together in a heated, fervent kiss.

Bill brought an arm around him, encouraging the kid closer as he busied his mouth, tongue pushing in. It collided with Dipper's, sweeping hungrily together, until it seemed Pine Tree had a new idea and began lightly nipping at his tongue and lips. As if goading him on to be rougher.

Rising to the occasion, he pushed Dipper against the wall, pinning him as he caught his lower lip with his teeth, dragging over it before he dove right back in with his tongue. This was nice. Aggressive kissing was something he could get into. He could feel Dipper struggling in his grasp, trying to free the wrist pressed into the wall to no avail. Dipper seemed to give up and used his other hand to dance along Bill's arm to his shoulder, his nails digging hard into the flesh.

Bill moaned softly into his mouth as Dipper's nails clawed his skin, the sensation going straight to his dick. He nipped at Dipper's tongue as one of his hands slowly dropped, sliding down Dipper's side and groping his ass. Although he initially tensed, Dipper melted against him with a small whine, the response positive, and reaffirmed his enjoyment by squirming to get closer. The grinding was feeble, his attempt to build up friction between them failing miserably with how he was trapped against the wall. Bill could fix that.

Keeping Dipper's wrist in his grip and bringing him with, Bill backed into the bed and allowed himself to fall back, pulling Dipper on top of him. A rebellious spike had the kid squirming off of him, settling a foot or two away, just out of reach. That had to be intentional. There was a challenge in his words as he mocked, "After flirting with Mabel's friends? I don't think you deserve this, Bill."

All signs pointed to the obvious. Dipper was getting off on his aggression, the commanding presence. If he wasn't, there would've been a lot less reciprocation earlier and more safewording, but none of that had happened.

Bill scowled at him playfully, a gleam to his eyes as he moved and reached to capture Dipper and pull him into his arms. "Please,  _Mason_ , we both know you liked it as much as me."

"I didn't like it when you flirted with them," Dipper snapped, though there was no malice in it. "You can't just hit on girls and then feel entitled to me."

"To be fair, cutie, they were hitting on me more." Bill had spent the time educating them on how great he was, via mostly truthful stories he'd relayed throughout the evening. They ate it up.

Dipper shoved away from him with a feigned sound of revolt. "So go have an easy fuck."

He loved it when he played hard to get, and he moved to follow, nearing where Dipper sat leaned back against his hands. "I like a challenge, cherry."

Eyes bright, Dipper pressed his knee to the soft part of Bill's stomach, as if demonstrating what would happen if he pushed his luck by coming any closer. "A challenge?" he scoffed. "Consider this a rejection."

Trying to discourage the impending attack, Bill moved his hand, slipping it between his stomach and Dipper's knee. "Please, doll. You know you're not going to  _actually_  reject me."

"I'll put up a fight," Dipper warned, but there was something… uncertain about it, as if he was asking rather than telling him, and Bill tried to determine why his confidence was wavering. This had been fun so far, did Dipper want to stop?

Or he was waiting for him, giving him a chance to back out and safeword. Well, that sure as hell wasn't happening, so maybe Pine Tree just needed some encouragement. "Bring it," Bill teased. "Those noodle limbs of yours can't save you from your desire to have my  _erectus manius_ inside of you." Bill's grip tightened on his knee, but it seemed that didn't deter Dipper at all because his other foot collided with his gut and Bill let out a pained puff of air, staggering away from him slightly.

"Jackass." That may be true, but Bill had one hell of a time wrestling with Dipper. He fucking loved how Dipper was difficult about this— consensually, anyway. Even with Pine Tree trying to 'resist' him, he knew he'd win over him sooner or later. This was just icing on the cake, and thousands of times better than when Dipper genuinely didn't want to do something with him, which wasn't fun at all.

"Come on, darling," Bill hummed. "You know you want me."

Dipper gave a snort. "Yeah, I can't wait to be called horrible things behind my back when you're done with me, like you did to Candy and Grenda." Right, Grenda. Not Gleeba. Oh well, didn't matter.

Bill was a little surprised Dipper was still on that. It'd been like, ten minutes, and they'd been having a good time rough housing. "Doll, I was only honest about those two. I wouldn't talk badly about you."

There seemed to be a retort ready on the tip of the kid's sharp tongue, but he hesitated. Sounding more serious than he had been before, Dipper said, "Bill, I think we should take a break for a second and uh, talk about this."

Did Bill do something wrong? He hadn't thought so, Dipper hadn't used the safe word… Bill withdrew from Dipper further to give him space, sitting back on the bed. "What did I do?"

Dipper's expression softened, and he smiled a little. "You didn't do anything, well— not exactly. I was enjoying that a lot, 'fighting' with you," he confessed with the lightest of flushes coloring his cheeks. He brushed a hand through his tousled hair as he went on, "It was the stuff with Candy earlier. You, her, you and her, flirting.." There was a vague hand motion to accompany the description. "If you  _were_ trying to make me jealous, that was a dick move, and you deserved the water. But if not, I guess I didn't deal with it that well, huh?"

He really didn't. "She was flirting with me," he reminded him. "Besides, I wasn't doing it to  _make you jealous_." That was a bonus, watching the kid get feisty and worked up. He was a little irked all the layers of his clothes had been soaked, but at least he had an excuse to be naked now.

The corners of Dipper's lips twitched, almost as if gravity itself was trying to form them into a frown. "Just because someone is flirting with you doesn't mean you automatically need to reciprocate, and in your case, you really shouldn't unless you know it doesn't mean anything to the other person as well."

Bill gave him a look of confusion. "They're just girls, of course it doesn't mean anything to them. They'll forget it by tomorrow, cutie."

"Maybe," he shrugged, "but you shouldn't risk playing with emotions like that, and—" Dipper stopped abruptly, shuffling in his spot and looking away. "And what I said before was true, I.. I didn't like it."

"What you're saying, cutie, is you  _jelly_." They both knew it– Dipper had admitted to being so. Not quite, but it'd been close enough.

Dipper huffed stubbornly. "It's not that, I was.. legitimately upset that you were messing with their feelings."

Oh, please. Bill didn't believe that for a second. "More like you were upset over me not giving you my undivided attention."

The flush deepened upon his cute and pouty face, confirming Bill's suspicions that may have well already been fact. "You're my heterosexual life partner," he mumbled, "I can be upset over you flirting with other people."

"Like I've said Pine Rose, I haven't been flirting with other people. I was just being honest with them about how admirable and amazing I am."

Dipper reminded him, "You were winking at Candy, dispensing compliments like a nice guy desperate to get laid, and you had your arm around her. How is that  _not_ flirting?"

Bill bristled at him. "If I  _were_  flirting, I would've been in her pants hours ago."

"You've been flirting with me for over five weeks now." Dipper snickered, then started to do a piss-poor (in his opinion) impression of him, "Day thirty-five, still haven't gotten in Pine Tree's pants. Maybe I should just try being nice for once, and not a total asshat? Nah, too much work for a jerk like me. Guess I'll flirt it up with his sister's friends!"

"Maybe I should go back out there," he threatened loosely. "At least those girls appreciate how wonderful I am. They  _praise my excellence_." Realistically, he'd rather stay here with Pine Tree, but he'd leave to prove his point.

"Bill," it was a tight sound, a near-squeak like Dipper was uncomfortable with the notion but didn't know what else to say. "I know you were having fun with them, so if you want to flirt and get frisky with other people, just… do it away from me."

He sighed at him. "You need to relax, sugar. You're the one I have eyes on– you shouldn't feel threatened by a couple of other girls."

Although he was rubbing his arms sheepishly, Dipper visibly relaxed after hearing that. "Yeah, so maybe I was a little jealous."

"A little? Cutie, if you were a sandwich, it'd be all jelly and no peanut butter."

An unhappy noise escaped him, probably at the analogy, then a sigh. "I just wish you wouldn't do that."

What was he talking about now? "Do what? Flirt, have other friends with benefits? Look– I only want you, okay? Don't worry about me doing stuff with others." Even though they weren't  _dating_ , just  _heterosexual life partners_. Ugh, Bill needed some action if this was the level he was stooping to. "At this point, we might as well get married, cutie, since you seem to want us to be  _exclusive_  and without a sex life."

All traces of negative emotion had disappeared from Dipper's features, seemingly relieved by and grateful for this arrangement, and he laughed softly at the marriage comment. "Stan doesn't want us to, and I think he'd definitely have a problem with that if I joined the crew." His tone was playful, apparently unaware Bill would've done it if he agreed, though it was interesting he shot it down over  _Stan_  rather than him.

Bill wasn't too worried about Stan– the guy was a pushover when it came to the kids, he was certain he could be easily swayed to approve of the marriage. "Stop worrying about what Stan would think," Bill told him. "The guy'll bend over backward if you flutter your girly eyelashes and tell him I'm what you want."

" _Also_ ," Dipper pointedly ignored his response but nevertheless gave him a look, "marriage is, in theory, reserved for two people who are mutually attracted to one another in a romantic sense."

"You're acting like people outside of those 'qualifications' don't get married." There'd be a hell of a lot less divorce if things worked like that. "Let's have a shotgun wedding! Spread your legs."

Dipper rolled his eyes, "Yeah, no." Sinking down against the pillows with the headboard propping his upper half, he peered at him through a curious gaze, tentatively asking, "Are you sure? About what you said earlier with the flirting and friends with benefits, like.." a cough, "you don't mind, right?"

Bill stared at him. "I don't understand why you're insisting we be exclusive when we're not in a relationship, doll. Why don't you just date me instead?" It'd be more straightforward.

"Because it's.. us," Dipper said simply, looking downward toward his lap, "and it's not that easy. Like, think about it— I'm a mess, you said it yourself." He was right, but that had been about a month ago and didn't apply anymore. "My life has changed drastically, and I'm still trying to adjust and I've never even  _been_ in a relationship, so I don't know if I'm ready for that commitment with someone I've had kind of a rocky history with." Dipper shifted his gaze back to him. "Things are better now, but I think we should give it some time, and…" he trailed off, eyes suddenly alight with a strange combination of alarm and interest. "And you can't seriously want to be with me like that. Dating implies a forming romance."

"You're putting us both in a commitment by insisting we be exclusive," Bill reminded him.

Dipper carded a hand through his hair, struggling to convey himself. "Let's uh, approach it this way. Bill, do you have romantic feelings for me?"

Did he? No, he was sure of it. Probably. Bill still didn't understand the fuzzy feeling he got around him, but the urge to crush it remained. "I don't."

"Okay," Dipper said, unfazed by that since it seemed to be the answer he'd been expecting. "Now, would you be fine with it if I flirted with people and let others shove their tongues down my throat as well?"

"No one had their tongues shoved down my throat!" Bill argued. "... But no."

"See," Dipper stressed, "it's different than dating, but we still don't have to do it."

Bill's response was a grumble, glancing away. "I liked this better when we were making out."

With a raised eyebrow, he simpered. "Oh, do you mean when I was kicking your ass?"

"You wish you were kicking my ass," he teased. "Those noodle arms can't stop me." As if to demonstrate, Bill nudged Dipper's legs apart and moved between them to get on top of Dipper. He leaned down to kiss his forehead, then his mouth, tongue diving in as he grinded in a lazy rhythm against him.

With a sweet, pleased noise that was partially muffled by the kiss, Dipper didn't mock-fight him this time, eagerly pushing his hips back up against Bill's in a silent request for better contact, greater friction. The pleasure was slow-building, and Bill wanted  _more_.

Dipper tangled his hands through his hair, threading through the strands and slotting their mouths together with more force, like the kid had an insatiable craving for this. And honestly, Bill couldn't blame him— that little interlude consisting of all talk and no touch had left him wanting this too, especially since it ended with the declaration they'd be dedicated to doing this with only one another. Bill was good with that, Pine Tree belonged to  _him_  and if anyone tried to touch him, he'd rip out their hearts and make them into a smoothie.

Curious as to how far Dipper would let this go, if he'd let Bill paint him in his glory, he pressed against him harder as he thrusted, increasing the pressure between them and groaning at the sensation. He could do this all night. Beneath him, Dipper wriggled and broke the kiss to huskily murmur, "Let me up. Clothes. They—" he cut himself off with a sloppy kiss, "need to come off. Now."

Clothes? Was Dipper going to spread his pretty legs further and let Bill pound him into oblivion, until he couldn't fucking walk for a week? Stars, he hoped so. Bill pulled off of him, eyeing him up like he was candy. "Strip, cutie."

Dipper was enthusiastically in agreement as he sat up, beginning to shed the clothes in record time. First, his plaid shirt was tossed carelessly away, then with some fumbling was in the process of working his jeans down, movements pausing when a vibration filled the air.

It was his fucking phone. Who the fuck was calling? He wanted to gut them, but thankfully it stopped.

"You can ignore that, right?" Dipper asked, sounding as agitated by the interruption as he felt.

Bill turned his attention back to Dipper, ready to jump him once more when the vibrations started again, earning a groan from Dipper and a furious threat from Bill, "Fucking hell, I'm going to throw that out the damn window. Hold on."

Getting up, he crossed the room to grab the damn phone. He wasn't sure what pissed him off more– the fact the call interrupted the action he was getting, or the name on the Caller ID. Fuck Robbie, fuck the Ravagers, fuck everything that wasn't him fucking Pine Tree. "I gotta take this." His voice betrayed how pissed off he was. A click later, and the call was answered. "What the fuck do you want, shithead?"

"You got some explaining to do, right fucking now," Robbie yelled over the line, somehow still maintaining that annoying whiny tone even when he was audibly pissed. "What's this about those kids— the Pines? They're everywhere on the news with you!" Anger was laced into every word, his fury escalating. "Oh, you should see the reports, they're saying you kidnapped them or some shit in a stolen car, it's the dumbest thing, like, ever, but I told you I wanted them  _dead_."

Was  _this_  all the dipshit wanted to talk about? It was such a fucking waste of his time. "Yeah, that takes time, dumbfuck. You should just be happy that takes some of the heat off you and your inability to kill them in the first place."

Robbie growled, "I'm not here to negotiate or play stupid games, man. Kill them already! I don't care about your excuses or whatever, just do it."

"Nah, I think I'll just fuck  _Mason_  right here and now since I was going to anyway. Don't call me again unless it's actually important."

There was a distinctly Dipper cry of, " _Bill_!" in the background.

"Who the hell was that? ..Is he there?" he demanded, but moved on to address the other piece. "That's why you won't do it, isn't it? Because you're  _fucking him_? Should've known you'd pull this shit," it was a dark snarl, but much less intimidating when followed by that signature Robbie Valentino snivel. "If you won't do it, I got other guys who will. Your little fucktoy better watch his back 'cause there's a target on it."

Every time Robbie opened his mouth, Bill wanted to put a bullet in it. Still, he knew better than to think Robbie wouldn't attempt something further. He was such a petty bitch. "Good luck, fuckhead." He ended the call, turning back to Dipper who was still splayed on his bed in his underwear. It was unfortunate that he didn't look as flushed and aroused as before, and that just made him hate Robbie more. "Hey cutie, how would you like to go on vacation?"

"What?" Dipper questioned, cocking his head. "And what was all that about?"

"Oh, nothing to be worried about, doll. Just a job I declined in favor of fucking you. Don't you think a vacation sounds nice, though?" He pressed. "We can take up Stan's offer, sugar." More like: get out of town, lay low. If Robbie hired someone, which he probably did on impulse, he wouldn't be able to afford them for long. The dumbass.

While the hesitance lingered, Bill saw the flicker of intrigue spark in the depths of Dipper's eyes. "You want to go to your place in the country?" he asked. "You mean right now?"

Ideally, and Bill nodded. "Get dressed and pack your things, cutie! We're hitting the road in ten."

* * *

The others had been supportive of their decision to take up Stan's offer. Mabel had said she'd text him updates of her slumber party, and Stan and Ford had been iffy over the fact they were going away  _together_  but hadn't stopped them. With groceries in the backseat, fresh coffee in the mugs (well, it didn't last long), and bags packed with the essentials, Dipper figured this was a veritable 'vacation' as Bill had called it. They were on the highway headed toward Paleto Bay, and it wouldn't be long until they arrived in the smaller city. "Finally, a heterosexual life partner getaway," Dipper commented, lazily leaning back in the seat and trying not to wince at his sore shoulders. The combat vest had really taken a toll on them.

Beside him, Bill hummed as he glanced at him. "Just you, me, and our raging boners for each other."

"Yeah, that's actually accurate," Dipper muttered. While he wasn't aroused right this second, what they'd been doing before… well, it'd been really fucking hot. "Do you think we can continue when we get there?"

"Hell yes," Bill said with a smirk. "I'm going to make you beg for my cock, cutie."

Mischievously, Dipper shot a sideways look at Bill and moaned, "Oh, please throw me on your bed and take me,  _sir_." If Bill didn't think he remembered that particular kink, he'd be dead wrong.

Bill raised an eyebrow at him. "Honey, unless you're going to give me roadhead, you might not want to do that." The thought of it sent a thrill down Dipper's spine, but translating the concept from fantasy to reality was too dangerous for his liking, even if he knew Bill was a.. mostly safe driver. Earlier, he'd kept them safe throughout the mission by expertly driving through traffic. It was impressive, but Bill didn't need that ego stroke.

"Calling you  _sir_ ," he nearly purred the word, "or the other part?"

"All of it! Are you gonna suck my dick or not?"

Dipper smirked, unable to resist the opportunity to jab at Bill's stamina. "I know it wouldn't take too long, but no. I'm not going to risk a traffic accident over that, you can wait." They'd have plenty of time later at Bill's place in the countryside, and that was much more appealing because it'd be private, secluded; they'd have it to themselves, unlike the penthouse most of the time.

He shot him a glare. "I'm not you, cutie. I don't cum in two seconds."

"How would you know?" Dipper asked with a laugh. "You haven't made me cum at all." They'd been heading in that direction when they had a few minutes of phone sex, but it hadn't amounted to anything sexually-pleasing. Just finding Bill's medication, which was far more worthwhile than an eventual orgasm.

"Because it's  _you_ , you're so sensitive if I touched you you'd burst. Besides, when I do make you cum, I'm aiming for it to be multiple orgasms." He winked at him.

A warmth flooding his body, Dipper shifted a little in his seat, folding his hands in his lap and his legs under him. "Um, I don't know if I can do that. There's a refractory period, so I'm not sure if I'll physically be able to.. y'know." It wasn't something he had ever explored before, simply never having the interest or curiosity to attempt it.

Bill fell into a fit of laughter. "You're nineteen, it's basically nonexistent. Be prepared to be  _tortured_  with pleasure, cutie."

"That sounds nice and intimidating.".

"It'll be fun for both of us. We'll be there soon, cutie. Get ready to  _cum undone_."

"Oh, gross," Dipper complained with exaggeration, making a face, but he wasn't quite bothered by the wording. "Do you have to be so obscene about it?" Well, it was Bill, so he could answer that for him: yes, yes he did.

Bill grinned at him, the car slowing as it took a right turn. "You love it." And Dipper could answer that for himself too: yes, yes he did.

But he wasn't about to give Bill that satisfaction, as if he didn't already know when it couldn't be more obvious. Contentedly humming, he relented with a, "Maybe."

From the turn, the ride was short and Dipper could see the red-bricked, French Cottage style home, and his eyes widened. The awed statement rolled off his tongue, "You really own this." It didn't seem possible, someone of Bill's age, but his late family's wealth and his own personal earnings were probably nothing to scoff at.

Pulling into the garage, Bill turned off the vehicle and was the first to get out, though Dipper continued after. "Hold up, cutie. Stay by me or you might run into my uh, victim room."

Struck with uncertainty over going inside, he swallowed anxiously. "What's the 'victim room?'"

"Do you really want to know, sugar?" Dipper nodded, curiosity getting the best of him. "It's a common practice. I torture people– slice their flesh, pry their fingernails off, and once they've given me the information I want, I kill them and take a trophy from their corpses. Those trophies are stashed in the victim room."

Feeling sickened by the explanation, Dipper paused in his tracks. "Please tell me that wasn't the sort of torture you brought me here for."

Bill chuckled. "No, I'm not going to touch a hair on your head, cutie. Unless you want it rough like that." He beckoned him to follow, heading into the main portion of the house.

The interior was as cozy as the exterior suggested it would be. It was well-maintained, clean (everything that belonged to Bill was), the patterned furniture was undoubtedly expensive but felt friendlier than the penthouse's. It was more colorful too, not everything was a pristine, clinical white. And for a few seconds, Dipper was frozen in the foyer, simply trying to take in his surroundings: the connecting dining room and study, their entrances marked by large doorways. Ahead was the living room, with sofas, chairs, decorative carpets, paintings, a fireplace, television… and another baby grand piano. Indicating the instrument with a flippant motion, Dipper suppressed a giggle and had to ask, "How many of those do you even need?" Bill could deny his ability to play again, Dipper wouldn't believe him.

"One can never have too many grands."

One quick tour of the house, some unpacking, a few hours of watching television, and enjoying some snacks later, he and Bill were cozy on the sofa together, spooning. Bill was behind him, an arm draped over his hip, and Dipper didn't think it could get much better. It was peaceful and tranquil, and being away from the others, as well as the penthouse itself, had relaxed him a decent amount.

Night had fallen over them a while ago, but he didn't feel tired just yet and shuffled so he was turned around, facing Bill. "This was a good idea," he said softly, voice quiet since there was nothing to compete with. Nothing except the low murmur of the television, the couple crickets outside, and the occasional vehicle, though the latter was harder to hear with the house being a distance from the highway.

Bill pressed his nose against his, a soft chuckle shaking his body. "Of course it was, doll. It was mine."

Dipper laughed, affectionately booping his nose in return. "Seriously? Today is not the day to boast about your decision-making after we literally had most of the police force shooting at us because of you, then you tried to make me jealous by flirting with Mabel's friends. Have you made a  _good_ decision today?"

"Hey, we became exclusive friends with benefits!" Dipper blushed at that, a flutter of giddiness erupting from somewhere within him. "Also, my driving was fucking  _beast_  and you should stop being such a f– gay."

And there it went. "Oh, god dammit. Here I thought you were trying to be sweet, but silly me," his voice flattened, "I forgot you were Bill Cipher."

Bill kissed his cheek. "I'm the sweetest, you're just sour 'cause I'm so damn great."

Dipper flicked Bill's cheek in return. Wouldn't want to disappoint. "Nope, you're horrible," he replied, but it was laced with affection. Leaning in closer, Dipper slowly murmured against his lips, "Absolutely awful." By now, they were mere millimeters from touching, and he so wished to eliminate the minimal space between them, but he fought down the urge. Bill seemed to sense the opportunity and went in for a kiss, but as quickly as it'd happened, Dipper jerked from his reach, rolling onto his other side again.

Before he knew it, Bill was hovering over him, trying once more to steal a kiss from his lips. Dipper tilted his head out of the way so he collided with his jaw instead. "Should I make you ask nicely again?" It was a joke, referencing their first mutually-enjoyable kiss. He wasn't going to follow through on that threat, becoming impatient too, but he liked playing with Bill.

"No," Bill muttered, moving so he was pinning Dipper down. "Just let me kiss you."

Honestly, he was almost ready to cave with Bill over him like this, enjoying the display of dominance. Cheekily, Dipper said, "Make me."

Bill used one hand to cup Dipper's chin firmly in place as he leaned down to crash their lips together, and Dipper let out a delighted mewl while he melted under the touch. Taking this as a sign to keep going, their mouths connected in a string of kisses, some chaste but most heated, a demonstration of the building lust between them. The constant meeting of lips and tangling of tongues had them both panting, desperate for more.

He could feel arms slip around him, lifting him from the couch, and he watched in a kissed daze as he was taken out of the living room, down the hall, and to the master bedroom.

As he was placed on the bed and Bill moved to get on top of him again, a foreign object caught his attention from the corner of his eye, one he hadn't noticed in their initial tour of the house. Interested, he squirmed a bit to get a better look at the strange, white box—some sort of machine—on the nightstand, electrodes protruding from it. "Hey, what's that?"

'"Hm?" Bill followed his gaze, brightening. "Oh, I was wondering where I'd put that. That's a TENS unit." Dipper had no idea what that was, and his confusion was plastered across his face as he continued to stare at the device. "It's a device that sends electrical pulses to the body. It relieves pain."

The use of the device had Dipper frowning, his eyes sweeping over Bill. "You have pain?" That was news to him when insomnia had been his only complaint, but even that was infrequent, a change Bill said he attributed to sleeping together.

The response he received was a chuckle. "No, I'm just a kinky bastard that uses it for electrosex."

His eyebrows shot up. "Um," Dipper gave a breathless laugh, "what?"

Looking from the TENS unit to Dipper, Bill inquired with a sudden hunger, "Would you like me to show you?"

"Yes." The agreement was automatic, though his signature overthinking hesitance wasn't far behind. "Well, I mean if it's safe." Sometimes, Dipper could curse his natural inclination toward curiosity, the desire to experience and have knowledge of everything.

Bill reached to grab the device, connecting pads to the electrodes' ends. "Let's see, do you have any heart conditions or a metal plate in your head like Mr. 'Aliens-are-Among-Us' Fordsy?"

Dipper wrinkled his nose at that, displeased by Bill's writing off of Ford's theories; he'd heard a few of them and thought they were well-researched, albeit paranoid. But he opted to answer his inquiry with a questioning, "No?" He didn't have a heart condition or metal, not that he knew of.

"Then it's safe! Strip, cutie."

Dipper did as asked and shed his clothing for the second time that day, and when he was down to his underwear, he hesitated. "Everything?" he asked but figured he knew the answer to it. Self-consciousness crept into Dipper because they'd never gone further than this, though he'd been ready to earlier. And he was ready now too, just.. uncertain of himself.

He glanced at him as he finished setting up the unit. "Everything has to go, doll." That was what he'd expected. Dipper inhaled to give himself courage and discarded his boxers, the removal of his last clothing article leaving him completely naked on Bill's bedsheets as he laid back down, legs drawn together tightly.

"You're sure this is going to feel good?" Dipper prompted, watching Bill.

Eyes flicking to his, Bill grinned wolfishly. "Oh, yes. You'll like it– it's similar to a vibrator, but it's  _deeper_." The promise sent a thrill through him, eyes wide.

Taking the pads connected to the electrodes, Bill placed two on his upper thighs and two on his hips, and Dipper found the sticky gel on them a bit odd, but gradually relaxed while his hands still gripped the sheets. "Alright cutie, can you tell me the safeword?"

Dipper lifted his gaze to Bill's, head tilting. "Rhubarb?"

"Good, we'll start on the lowest setting. Say the safeword if you want me to stop, and I will." Bill moved his hands away, fiddling with the dials on the box for a moment and turning on the device.

Dipper felt a tingling sensation spread over his waist, and he stared at the area in dumbstruck awe. It hadn't been what he expected to feel with electricity coursing between the pads. "That's— uh, it feels weird. Like it's tingling, but not in a bad way?" It wasn't painful, as he'd initially thought introducing electricity would be, but it was different and took a minute or so to adjust before Dipper shifted his eyes to Bill, reporting, "Doesn't feel like much."

"It's the lowest setting, of course it won't. I'll ramp it up." Another slight twist of the dial had Dipper emitting a suspended breath, his head falling against the mattress as his eyes fluttered closed in enjoyment, this setting turning the tingling gradually into a feeling closer to an internal throb, but it still wasn't very powerful. The muscles of his pelvis were contracting gently, and they seemed tensed but relaxed at the same time. It was nice, sort of like a constant massage that sent small bursts of excitement through him.

Hearing noises of shuffling, he opened his eyes again to see Bill had set the device down as he removed his clothes, including his slacks and boxers. Undressed, he moved to get on top of Dipper, lips snatching his in a kiss as he grinded against him. Reciprocating it, his legs draped over Bill's waist, squeezing him, pushing down, encouraging him to get closer. One of Bill's hands pawed at the bed sheets for the control box, and the intensity of the electricity increased. It heightened the previous sensations, the deep throbbing far more noticeable now, and Dipper let out a loud, involuntary moan into the kiss.

Squirming in pleasure underneath Bill, the electricity was stimulating his sensitive bits in rhythmic suckling motions, and it was leaving his thighs a quivering mess, hips gyrating upward in search of more friction. He hadn't realized it'd feel this.. this  _incredible_ , having electric pulses flooding his senses, putting them on overdrive.

After the kiss ended, Dipper broke away from it, panting and flushed. His eyes were dark with lust as he gazed at Bill, feeling like a puddle of his former self with how it seemed like his very muscles were vibrating within him, coaxing heat to pool in the pit of his belly.

" _Bill_ ," Dipper whined, voice dripping with need, even if he didn't know exactly what he wanted. All he knew was that he just wanted  _more_ because as he became more sensitive to physical touch, everything else seemed to get better as well.

In response, Bill rutted against him harder while their cocks brushed, once again pressing his lips against his. Sparks ignited throughout Dipper, shooting through every vein and nearly making him hypersensitive to every snap of Bill's hips against his own. Each one seemingly had a new force of stimulation slamming into his pelvis, the electricity rendering the pleasure indescribable.

Better yet, he felt Bill's tongue nudging along the seam of his lips and Dipper parted them compliantly, allowing their tongues to meet in desperate strokes that had Dipper making tight and increasingly loud noises.

It felt like his body was positively on fire, arousal building fast and beginning to reach the point of no return. Trying to encourage him, Dipper's hands moved from white-knuckling the sheets to Bill's shoulder blades, fingernails biting into the skin.

"If— ah, if you k-keep going," Dipper breathed, breaking from the kiss. His words were strained, labored, "I'm— I'm gonna,  _oh_ —" Hips bucking as if to illustrate, a wanton whine fell from his lips as his back arched,  _so very close_. Just a little more on Bill's part, and.. Dipper got an idea, that idea coming to fruition with a shameless moan of, " _Please_ , sir!"

Almost instantly, teeth latched into the skin of his neck as Bill increased his pace, the pleasure between them mounting, pushed over with the help of the electricity's added sensitivity.

Dipper came with a broken cry of Bill's name, every inch of him going rigid for several seconds as he rode out the orgasm, the rush of pleasure amplified significantly— his climax was much more powerful than anything he'd experienced in the past, beyond the barriers of what he thought was even possible. On top of him, he could feel Bill tense and moan as he came soon after, a warm substance splattering his stomach.

Coming down from the high, Dipper's body jerked, spasming from oversensitivity caused by the electrical pulses still flowing through his pelvis. "Bill— _overs.. s..ensitive_ ," he panted, taking in gulps of air and hardly able to formulate words in the aftermath of a mindblowing orgasm. "H-hurts." It was a pleasurable sort of pain, a jumping between the two extremes.

Bill mumbled illegibly in response, reaching to turn off the TENS unit, and Dipper instantly relaxed when the deep vibrations stopped. The electricity had turned his muscles into mush, and he felt like he was floating in the most wonderful of ways. "You'll be fine, cutie." He shuffled off Dipper, moving to get off the bed. "I'll be back in a moment."

The tiredness made Dipper incapable of going anywhere or protesting or even caring much, but he was glad when Bill returned with a wet cloth, wiping away the mess, cleaning his stomach off, then removing the pads. "How you feeling, Pine Rose?"

Eyes closing, he didn't think he ever wanted to move again and slurred, "Mm, ..feel like gelatin."

"Adorable gelatin," Bill teased gently, setting the cloth aside to lay beside him. "You look like you had fun."

Looking at Bill, he shot him a half-hearted glare but smiled afterward, still engulfed by the tiny bursts of post-orgasmic pleasure erupting within him. "So did you," he mumbled lazily, eyes flicking back to his stomach where there used to be physical evidence of their enjoyment. Dipper made a face, mock complaining, "Did you have to finish on me?"

Bill moved closer, smirking at that as he tenderly nudged a stray hair from his forehead. "Would you rather I finish inside of you, doll?" That was accompanied by a wink, and Bill drew him inward, pressing their bodies together.

"Wait, like.. without a condom?" Dipper laughed, but it was short, more like a sharp expelling of breath. He didn't have energy for anything more. "Maybe, if you're clean." But that was an idea for another day, he felt drained.

"You'd let me?" Bill seemed flattered. "Stars, sweetheart. I can't wait to plunge my cock into that tight hole of yours." He shuffled forward more to place a kiss to his lips. "You were so good, cutie."

It was surprising how Bill's words affected him despite coming only minutes ago, but he pushed that aside for the moment. "I said  _maybe_ if you're clean," Dipper reminded him, interrupted briefly by a yawn of exhaustion, "and I know you're at a bit more of a risk. Everything you've said has implied you've had a lot of.. um, exploits?"

Bill's expression dropped. " _Adventures_ , cutie. Besides, we're exclusive, so cleanliness isn't a problem. And I'm clean as fuck, probably cleaner than you."

"I'll think about it," he promised, straining to steal a kiss on Bill's cheek, then placed one on his jaw. "That was nice, even the electricity part."  _Especially_ that part, it had ramped up the sensations to an extreme. "I can see why you like it. Can we, ah, do that again?"

Bill chuckled. "In a few minutes, but we might not want to do too much more with electricity. Give your body a break and besides, you just came, doll– it'll be a bit before your gun is ready to fire again."

Trying to bottle his fatigue, Dipper perked up at that, giving the tiniest of laughs at the figure of speech. "You're so weird, dude," he murmured, then started to rise from the bed. "Think I'm going to get a glass of water, then maybe we can—" as he stood up, Dipper dazedly stumbled, catching himself on the bedpost. "I didn't realize I was that.. out of it." Never before had a climax put his brain in a fog like this with his endorphins on high, but it was euphoric and unfortunately, he guessed he wasn't getting water in this state.

"Hey," Bill scrambled to get off the bed, trying to steady him. "You go lay down. I'll get you water, cutie. Okay?"

Dipper didn't have much choice but to agree, greeting Bill with an affectionate kiss when he'd returned with water. "Thanks." The water was gone in a few seconds, gulped down, but it did nothing to stir him back to liveliness. In fact, he felt ready to sleep for a year, and Dipper shuffled over to Bill to collapse in a pitiful heap. "Just so you know," he began, words bleeding together as they exuded exhaustion, "I'm not accepting any cab fare from you. You're—" he yawned, "stuck with me."

Bill's embraced him, drawing him in. "I'm sure I could get you to take some cab fare," his tone was teasing. "Are you glued to me now?"

"I'd pocket it and never leave your side," Dipper playfully responded, nuzzling into him and letting his eyes close, simply drinking in Bill's scent. "But yeah, pretty much. Regretting becoming exclusive friends with benefits yet?"

"Nah, you wish I regretted that." He could hear Bill yawn, feeling him nuzzle him in return.

Despite their earlier discussion of another round, it seemed sleep was seeping into Dipper too fast to be avoided. He was sinking deeper into unconsciousness, comfortable and happy curled up against Bill.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sexual content, copious fluff. Next update will be Sunday.

Dragging himself out of bed and stumbling toward the door in a sleepy daze, Bill groggily forced his feet down the hall of his country home. It was late morning, or early afternoon– he wasn't sure, but he could smell something cooking in the kitchen. It was warm, buttery in scent, and he was faintly reminded of Stancakes, only better.

As he approached the room in question, he could hear Dipper's faint hum, and upon entering his attention naturally drifted to the sway of Dipper's hips as he finished up with the pancakes. With a renewed sense of purpose, Bill sauntered over to him and grabbed his ass, announcing his presence with a rough, "Hey cutie."

Jumping, Dipper squeaked as he was touched, spinning to face him while his back pushed against the counter. "Just can't keep your hands off me?" he mumbled. "It's like I'm irresistible to you." A scowl, one he fought to keep as a smile threatened to take over, rested on Dipper's face, and he swatted at him with the wooden spoon coated in batter.

He tried to evade it but failed, getting smacked in the chest. "Hey!" His exclamation was of surprise, mildly entertained groping had resulted in an  _attack_. "Look at the mess you've made, sugar. Guess you gotta lick it off."

" _Fine_ ," he agreed stubbornly, though he didn't sound distraught, "let me just set this down first." Dipper went to place the spoon on the counter but swiped it across Bill's stomach in the process, innocently saying, "Oh, whoops. I guess I'll have to lick that off too."

Leaning forward, his mouth pressed hot kisses into the skin and he lapped at the batter, cleaning it before moving down his chest to the other mess. Dipper's pink tongue swiped over his lower stomach, and  _god_ Bill could've groaned as he looked up at him through those lidded doe-eyes.

It was almost  _evil_. "Should lick it off my dick too," he muttered. Dipper was already going to town on his stomach, why not take his boxers off and do it a few inches lower? "I'll give you some cream filling after I  _batter_ your mouth."

" _Gross_ , and we don't have time," Dipper said, wiping his mouth and turning back to the stovetop. "The pancakes are done. Hey, do you want some?" What a disappointment, he was hoping Dipper would've let him fuck his little mouth. Maybe he could convince him another time.

The pancakes  _did_  look better than the hairy gruel Stan occasionally tried to push on the penthouse residents. "Sure, cutie. Load me up." Would the pancakes make his cum taste buttery? Guess he'd see if he could get Dipper to find out later. They'd done plenty of grinding—both with and without electricity—over the course of the couple days they'd stayed at his place, but the desire to fuck his throat raw was overwhelming.

Dipper's pancakes were as good as they looked, and they'd eaten them in the living room, keeping an eye on the television. There was a dedicated dining room, but he wanted to watch the news after he saw he'd gotten a text from Stan about another gang — specifically, the downfall of another gang.

Then, the segment came on. The news anchor talked about the members and their despicable deeds (yawn, Bill rolled his eyes), then went into how there had been a raid. Several were dead, others were in custody. Following the report, the mayor made an announcement, an annoying regurgitation of how she was going to make this city safe, leading a revolution to wipe out criminal activity and cut down on organized crime.

"Wow, she wasn't kidding," Dipper commented, making a face as they scrolled through the images of the convicted and deceased gang members. "Did you know those people?"

Did he know them? Of course he did, he was popular with the gangs. "I worked with them before. Poor dumbasses, I wonder how the cops'll break the news to their woodpeckers."

Dipper looked puzzled, fingers tapping idly on the edge of his empty plate. "I don't know what that's slang for."

Time for a disturbing truth. "Oh, it's not slang. These guys would trap woodpeckers– the bird, and then try to marry them. Obviously the city wouldn't let them, so they had this… weird pretend marriage."

"Are you a former member? We have a weird pretend marriage." It was accompanied by a little laugh, but it died when Dipper appeared to harbor a pinch of guilt. "Probably shouldn't make dumb jokes like that, huh? I mean, they're.. dead or in prison now."

Bill wanted to smack him. He didn't care about joking at the expense of the deceased, that was par for the course, but they weren't fucking birds. "No, we're two people who're  _engaged_  and  _exclusive_  and  _heterosexual life partners_. We are not, and will never be, birds that're being fucked by a group of horny men because—"

"I hope they didn't actually do.. that."

"—as much as I'd like for you to lemme smash, Becky, it won't be like that."

Amused by the reference, Dipper snorted and said, "No, Ron. I'm smashing Ben now."

The joke was on Pine Tree since Bill wasn't Ron, which meant he was _going_ to get some Dipper action. "Ben is a ho."

"You're so weird," Dipper teased. He shifted to lean against him and looked up at Bill, traces of fondness lingering in his gaze. "I know I say that a lot, but it's true."

"I'm not weird," Bill muttered softly. Maybe he was  _a little weird_ , but that was natural. "You're weird. Also.." he paused, the afterthought a bit personal, "you make me feel like myself when I'm with you." It was different than everybody else, he could smile and laugh and  _feel_  when he was around him.

"..You don't usually feel like yourself?" Dipper asked, concerned. "Who or what do you feel like? And  _do not_ say Hugh Hefner," a devious grin lifted his lips, "that doesn't fit  _the bill_."

"Fuck you." He loved that kid. No he didn't. Shoving his thoughts aside, he said, "That's not what I meant, and that was a shit pun."

"Yeah, it was pretty bad," Dipper conceded, nuzzling into him after pressing a kiss to his neck. When he spoke again, the words sent tendrils of breath floating over his skin. "So tell me what you meant."

"I just.. feel really comfortable around you." It almost reminded him of when he was younger, before his parents became complete dickwads.

"Mm," Dipper hummed in thought, using his hand to direct Bill's to settle on his waist, "I do too. Feel comfortable around you, that is." Eyes returning to the television, he blinked then squinted. "Is that Preston Northwest?" The commercial break had ended, leading into statements from a handful of officers, including Chief Moneybags, on the deaths and incarcerations of the gang. "Didn't you say we talked to him at the banquet?"

Bill glanced at the television as Preston spoke, reminded of how the man was too pretentious for his own good. "Yep, Chief Moneybags in the flesh. He's such a bitch." Useful, at least. "We did. You still don't remember much?" He was relieved it was ongoing. If Dipper found out he was drugged, Bill would have to silence him.

There was a flicker of guilt on his face. "No," he admitted, unable to meet his eyes, "not much. Only little bits every now and then, but I know it was stupid to drink so much. I just get really nervous and awkward in social situations."

That reminded him. "If we meet Preston again, don't act surprised or question it if he calls you 'jailbait.'"

The guilt shifted into alarm instantly, and Dipper stared at him. "Wait, what?" It was a scared demand. "Why would he call me that?"

Attempting to be soothing before the panic began, Bill kissed his forehead. "He might think you're not quite legal yet. Before you freak out cutie, it's only for the publicity. They love that shit." It wasn't a big deal, was it? It didn't cause any harm.

"Okay, uh," Dipper started, sounding like he was on the verge of doing exactly that, which meant there was an incoming albeit unnecessary freak out session. His fingers twitched, pupils darting. "Why does he think that? Let me guess— you told him I'm  _underage_?"

He figured Dipper would've put two and two together from the implication. It was for  _publicity_. "What's the matter, doll? There's no harm done, and they think we're  _the shit_. So what if they believe you're a few years younger?"

"No harm done?" Dipper gestured, mildly horrified. "Bill, they— if they think I'm like.." there was a brief moment of mental calculation, "sixteen, that's really gross. Seriously, why is that a thing? Why do people  _like_ that?" At this point, his tone had less panic and more confusion, probably a good sign.

"We're rich fucks, cutie. It's a status symbol, and a lot of us get kicks out of underage kids being fucked. Not me, personally, but Preston and the rest? They  _love it_." Dipper's real age was accessible to them anyway, not that anyone would bother fact checking him.

Looking frustrated, Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose. "So not only am I apparently underage, but that's the whole reason? Because it somehow looks good that you're fucking a kid?"

"And getting away with it!" What did the kid not get with this? He was hanging out with the rich, he should shape up quickly.

Curling in on himself, Dipper buried his face into his shoulder. "That's so messed up." At least he didn't sound too upset, just.. disturbed by the methods of social climbing among the elite.

He was right, though. It was messed up, but they had to play the game to preserve their position. With a few minutes and extra reassurances, Dipper seemed calm again, not terribly flustered by the previous conversation, luckily.

Bill glanced away from Dipper as he wrapped his arm around him. His phone was buzzing, the Caller ID showing as Fordsy. "Why does everyone call me when I'm getting cozy?" Annoyance laced his voice. Why wasn't it Stan? At least he could tolerate him for more than a couple seconds. Fordsy was irritating, too high and mighty– he wouldn't shut up, he acted like a know-it-all when Bill was smarter. The "genius" couldn't even do  _his own equations_  correctly.

Bill knew the brothers were worried about Preston, even more so now with Mabel and her ties to Pacifica, but if that was what the call was about, he could suck a dick. Picking up the phone, he answered: "What the fuck do you want, Fordsy?"

Dipper narrowed his eyes at the greeting, very obviously mouthing 'be nice' to him.

Ford spoke, "Ah, Cipher, are you available for an upcoming heist? Stanley has been contacted by a client who is interested in a particular…" he cleared his throat, "artifact, if you will."

Curiosity pooling in his eyes, Dipper shifted from leaning against him to sliding onto his lap, settling against Bill's chest to put his ear near the other side of the phone.

"...We'll be paid triple for 'collecting' this artifact in a timely manner, as this client's first choice met a recent, unfortunate accident." Oh, so the gang that was all over the news because they were busted. Got it.

Pulling away, his features were bright with intrigue and mischief—Bill recognized that look, his heart leaping as he ardently anticipated what would come next—and Dipper draped his arms over Bill's shoulders, rolling his hips.

Realizing he hadn't yet replied, he questioned, "Is that all, Fordsy?" His voice was strained as Dipper rocked forward, rutting against him. That little fucker.

Dipper emitted little noises as he continued, noticeably grinding. The movements were slow and lazy, like he was taking his time with this.

"Yes, I suppose that concludes the details of the job unless you'd like specifics."

Melting into the sofa cushion, Bill moaned softly from the friction. "Tell me about this artifact." He wanted to punt Pine Tree for this, and maybe he would in a while, but he liked how it felt.

"Perhaps this conversation would be better suited for a crew meeting, but.. the artifact is housed in a museum. Currently, we are looking into when it will next be cleaned. I don't believe you answered my previous inquiry: would you like to join us for this retrieval?"

As Ford was talking, Dipper was becoming physically affected by this as well, flushed and panting quietly between the rhythmic rubbing of his hips. "Want.. you so badly," it was a husky whisper in his other ear. " _Oh_ , take m-..me, sir."

And now, he could hardly remember what Ford had last said, his interest taking a dive with Dipper's grinding. "Okay, F-Fordsy." Another moan, and his hips were snapping up against Pine Tree, who returned his advances with an involuntary buck. That settled it: he was done with this call. "Unless you wanna hear me fuck  _Mason_ , ya might wanna hang up." Squirming against him, Dipper let out a choked whine, likely at the use of his name. Bill loved how much that spurred him on.

"Ah, what? Are— are you engaging in intercourse?" Bill was pretty sure he'd never heard Ford sound so awkward about anything in his life, and that was a feat. There was an astonished addition, " _Right now_?.."

Bill's response was a wavering chuckle. "Working on it! Mason, keep going."

"What the fuck are ya doing, Bill?" Stan's boomed in his ear the next moment, but he didn't care about the swap. Ford must've given it to him.

"Is ol' Six Fingers crying in the bathroom?" Bill inquired as he thrusted against Dipper, trying to elicit a moan. To his displeasure, he bit down on his lower lip in a clear attempt to silence any sound he would've made— he knew the kid was loud, and Bill  _wanted_ him to make noise, yet Dipper didn't seem to grasp that.

Bill's hand sensually brushed along Dipper's hips. He wanted him to be as loud as he fucking could, and it was even better than expected when Dipper cried out, the sharp noise followed by a twitch of his hips and a lascivious moan. While Bill couldn't have been more pleased, Stan was disgusted and said, "No, now shut your yap and stop fuckin' Dipper for a moment ya sick, twisted bastard, because Sixer an' I don't wanna hear that shit. Vacation's over, your car needs to be serviced for this heist. Get off your ass and do that, I gotta call Wendy and Soos." The call ended in a click.

Bill huffed, wishing to continue although he was unfortunately aware he had to get the car service done. "Cutie, I gotta go for a bit."

Movements slowing to a stop, Dipper frowned at him. "I think you're confusing 'come' and 'go.'"

Oh, he wished. He desired it so much. "I have work to do, sugar. I'd love to pound you senseless right now but Stan'll have my ass if I delay too much."

While disappointed, the uncertainty remained on Dipper's face. "I thought we were on a vacation… getaway, thing? How do you have work to do? I know Ford was talking about that heist, but— is it today?"

"Stan said vacation was over, cutie. He didn't say when the heist was but it'll be coming up fast regardless." Likely not today, but within the next few. It didn't allot much time to prepare. "Do you wanna come with to the shop?"

"Sure, okay."

* * *

Outside in the car, Bill reversed from the garage and steered onto the road. With their bags packed and stowed in the backseat, leaving his house was disheartening but they'd both known it had to come to an end eventually. Bill could only hope the kid's sex drive would keep up at the penthouse, however was wary when he seemed to thrive on being away from the others.

Exiting onto the highway, the speed of the vehicle picked up as he turned to look at Dipper, expression blank as he turned on the car's CD player.

The first track on the disc, "Scream For My Ice Cream" by Blood on the Dance Floor, blared in the car. It was his jam,  _and_ situationally-appropriate with the batter incident that still had him hoping for a blowjob.

He could see Dipper was gazing at him, eyes raising from the sketchbook in his lap with mix of horror and disgust at the song choice. "You have  _this_ on a CD?"

Oh yes, yes he did. He stole it off the internet and downloaded it to the CD, not that anyone gave two shits. As the chorus came on, he made a point to slowly turn the volume up with precision, dead staring into Dipper's eyes.

"Dude."

Bill's neutral expression didn't waver, but he internally noted he'd have to look back at the road soon.

"You're being creepy." Dipper grimaced, then threw his head with a sigh. "Alright, I get it. You want me to suck you off."

About time he made the connection, and he looked back at the road. "You will suck me off, cutie. You'll love to taste some of my sweet ice cream."

"We're seriously not going to continue listening to this. It's a bad influence on you." In the corner of his vision, he saw Dipper now had his face buried in his hands.

Bill wasn't going to change it, he liked the song. If Dipper wanted it gone, he was welcomed to find something else. "If you're that desperate to change out this  _amazing_  tune, this blessing on the world of music, there's a CD case under your seat."

Dipper didn't waste time and immediately ejected the CD from the player, shooting him a displeased glare in the process. "I'll find something better, trust me." Digging under the seat as instructed, he found the case and started flipping through the options, reading off the labels while he searched for one that seemingly caught his interest. "Nineties mix? ..Nope. I wish you had ABBA or— wait, what's this?" There was a new inflection, something close to playful. "Ooh, Bill's  _love mix_? I didn't know you had a  _lo-o-ove mix_." Dipper said the word 'love mix' like a fascinated twelve-year-old girl, sing-songy and teasing.

"Oh, that. Don't put that in, cutie." He hoped he'd put it in. "You wouldn't care for my love music." He'd adore it. "It's so embarrassing!" It wasn't.

"Mm," it was a light noise of consideration, "I think I'll put it in. See exactly how  _embarrassing_ this is." With a smirk, Dipper took the CD from the sleeve while Bill watched each move in his peripherals, every inch of him internally begging this kid to go through with it.

He slid the CD in the player and there was a moment of tense anticipation before the song began.

A familiar intro burst through the speakers.

Utterly dumbfounded, Dipper didn't even retract his hand, just stared at it like he couldn't believe his ears as Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up" resounded throughout the car. And finally,  _finally_ he said:

"Did.. you just fucking indirectly rickroll me?"

It was an astounded question, then after a second, Dipper succumbed to giggles that escalated to chuckles that rose to full blown howls of laughter.

Bill managed to restrain his laughter for a moment as he shouted-sang along with the chorus when it came, ringing out over Dipper's laughter, "Never gonna give you up." His voice grew louder, and so did Dipper's chortling. " _Never gonna let you down._ " The kid was doubled over, his laughs almost silent while a stray tear or two streamed over his cheeks." _NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND DESERT YOU!_ "

"Oh my god—" Dipper managed through his cracking up, sputtering. " _S-stop_." And he lowered the volume until the song was a murmur in the background.

"Hey, I wasn't done serenading you yet!" As Dipper started recomposing himself, Bill's laughter died down as well. "I can't fucking believe you fell for it," he wheezed, blinking back tears from the force of his laughter. "Bill's love mix, my ass."

"I can't believe  _you_ ," Dipper shot back, wiping the last remaining tears from his eyes.

Soon after, they'd arrived at the mechanic's automotive repair and he'd left his vehicle behind, threatening that there'd be hell to pay if there was any damage done to her, even the puniest scratch. Dipper had chided him with a gentle whap for that.

Now, they were lounging in Mirror Park as they waited for the car to be finished. Dipper was sitting beside him on the grass, cross-legged, with his sketchbook on his legs, obliviously drawing away. He seemed to be taking bits of the scenery and incorporating it into his sketches, and he was pretty sure the kid was stealing looks at him every now and then. It wouldn't be the first time he appeared as a portrait in that book.

If the kid just wanted to draw him and showcase his physical attractiveness, he wouldn't complain; in that case, the sketchbook and art materials had been a marvelous investment. Briefly, he wondered if the kid would draw him nude. He seemed to like seeing him without clothes, so why wouldn't he? "You look like you're enjoying yourself, cutie."

"Hm?" Dipper glanced up, then nodded and returned to his art. "Oh, it's nice being out with you instead of trapped in the penthouse. I'm glad Stan's letting us roam more, even with the new belligerent mayor."

"The mayor's a nut," he agreed. "Crazy bitch, it's a shame that recent assassination attempt on her didn't work." The world would've been a much better place if they had succeeded.

"What assassination attempt?" Dipper sounded surprised.

Oh, shit.

"You didn't hear about that? It was all over the news." He didn't know if it was a lie or not, didn't care. "A gang tried to hit the mayor at her house, but someone tipped off the cops. The gang got away though."

"Huh, weird. Mabel usually has the news on, and I don't remember hearing about that." Thankfully, his tone didn't indicate suspicion, just confusion. Dipper gazed at him for a moment longer than what seemed necessary, expression warming as he quietly admitted, "Your eyes are still really pretty."

"Nah," he disregarded the compliment. "They suck." And he didn't care for hearing about them, but Dipper already knew that. "I wish one wasn't tainted."

"Stop calling it  _tainted_ ," Dipper reprimanded. "The only thing that's tainted is your perception of yourself. Seriously, your eyes are stunning."

His  _perception_  was fine, thanks. If Dipper loved his eye so damn much, he could cut it out and have it. "No." It was… almost frustrating, how Dipper didn't comprehend how  _awful_  that eye was. "What happened to drawing?"

Dipper sighed and leaned back on his hands, frowning at him. "Oh, come on. Don't be mad over this."

"Can't you just… go back to drawing?" He'd be mad if he damn well wanted. He wasn't going to let Pine Tree tell him what to do.

Dipper's expression darkened, and he cast his eyes downward to the sketchbook. Wordlessly, he resumed drawing but this time, there was a lack of peeking at him.

Bill asked snarkily: "Did my eyes become too hideous for you to look at?"

Without so much as a glance, Dipper muttered, "I didn't think you liked it when I looked at them."

"I don't. I don't  _get_  why you're obsessed with my eyes." His dick was so much better, and it wasn't tainted by  _blue_. What a horrible color. He needed to convert Pine Tree to gold. His life would improve significantly.

"My reason wasn't good enough for you."

His 'reason' was illogical when Bill's best features were everything else. "I'm certain you must be going blind, cutie, if you think that eye looks decent."

Dipper kept drawing. "At least people will understand why we're together once I go blind. Our heterosexual life partnership should make a lot more sense to everybody." When there was no reply, he looked at him, raising an eyebrow at Bill's obvious displeasure. "What was I supposed to say? You got upset when I complimented you."

Bill didn't come here to be  _abused_  by this kid. "Fuck off, Pine Tree. You knew I wouldn't like it and you did it anyway." He wasn't the bad guy here, it was Pine Tree. "It's not a compliment when you're bringing up something I don't fucking like."

Appearing startled by the sudden anger and snap, Dipper flinched like he'd been hit. His eyes were wide and hurt, but Bill didn't know how he could be when he'd already known this was a touchy subject. "Yeah, you're right," Dipper said, avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry. I won't talk about your heterochromia anymore if it bothers you."

It  _did_  bother him, and he regretted not using their safeword. Shit, if he only said it sooner. He didn't want to  _hurt_  Dipper, he just.. disliked the attempt of a compliment. "You shouldn't be sorry," he muttered as he glanced away.

"I.. what?" Dipper asked through a small, ashamed mumble. Although his movements had paused and he wasn't drawing anymore, his attention didn't stray from the sketchbook. "No? I shouldn't have said anything about it."

"I shouldn't have snapped. At the very least, I should've used our safeword." It would've hopefully prevented this… maybe. He wasn't too sure, but his gaze remained downcast. "I fucked up."

Beside him, there was a shifting noise, and Dipper's form disappeared from his peripheral vision. "You didn't, not really. You were right, I knew you didn't like talking about it, but I was.. caught up in the moment and stupidly said it anyway. Ugh, that sounds lame," there was a regretful sigh. "I just want to forget about it."

Bill wished he could see him. "Stop being sorry, doll. I shouldn't be so… defensive about it." He hated his eye, but he knew it was an overreaction. "I'm sorry, sugar."

"You can be as defensive as you want, and you don't need to apologize for it." No, he couldn't be. Being defensive meant he'd lash out at Pine Tree, and he didn't want to do that. "I won't talk about your eyes, I promise."

"Cutie, you can... compliment them if you want." Bill didn't like it that much, he didn't think he ever would, but if it made Dipper happy he'd try to tolerate it.

"Nah, I'll go blind eventually and then just comment on the shape of your face or.. your sharp cheekbones."

"How can you comment on it if you're blind?" he inquired, confused.

Dipper's response was matter-of-fact, "Because I'll be able to feel those things?"

Oh. ... _Ooh,_ but why just feel his face and cheekbones when there were better things to explore? "Why don't you feel my dick instead, sugar?"

"I'm not blind yet."

"Hey, you don't need to be blind to catch a ride on the Bill Train." He winked at Dipper.

"But you do need to be blind to want one." Sketchpad and supplies set aside on the grass, Dipper turned his head to faintly smile at him, rolling onto his stomach to move closer. As if soothing the damage from his sassy reply, he grazed his lips over Bill's jaw, then kissed the underside of it. Pulling back, he added, "I'm kidding. You're.. really handsome, but I think you know that."

The grouchy expression Dipper received was gentle, and he went in for a kiss. "Of course I'm handsome. Everyone else is jealous of my looks, doll."

Dipper appeared flustered, eyes moving side to side as if to measure the level of attention they were attracting— which was next to none, the park was quiet this afternoon. Satisfied that they were unnoticed, he stole another kiss, this one on Bill's cheek. "Oh, they're probably jealous of me, being the  _amazing_  Bill Cipher's exclusive friend with benefits and the sole object of his affection."

Bill wished more people were around. They'd crowd them, fawning over his handsomeness and how cute Pine Tree was. He'd like that attention. "You bet they'd be jealous of you. They might try to drag you away, doll."

"From you?" Dipper's eyebrows raised, his hand sneaking over his chest, resting near his shoulder while his fingers idly played with what had to be the fabric of his bowtie. There was a dash of interest, a little flicker of dark playfulness igniting in his brown eyes. "I'd never let them. I'm  _yours_ , Bill."

"What're you gonna do, cutie? Fight off the hordes of fangirls? They'll eat you alive." Pine Tree was too twiggy to survive being dragged away.

As he played with his bowtie, Bill leaned in to steal a kiss, which was reciprocated, but Dipper ended it prematurely with a guilty neck rub and explained, "Maybe we shouldn't do too much of that here. People might think we're... " he trailed off, still fiddling with the bowtie nervously, yet Bill found it annoying he ended the kiss early. He had been enjoying it. Dipper started to ramble, "Together, uh.. romantically? Which isn't a  _problem_ , exactly, like it might be in Sandy Shores, but I mean—"

Bill lightly flicked his cheek and was huffed at. "You're forgetting you're with  _me_. No one's going to fuck with us." If they did, they'd end up on the ground in a pool of their own blood.

Dipper chuckled anxiously, glancing around the park again to perform a paranoid scan for spectators. Must have been taking life tips from Fordsy. "Yeah, no. Don't hurt anybody, and besides, you shouldn't have to since Los Santos is a pretty open-minded city. That wasn't what I was referring to."

"What else would you be referring to?" Bill seemed confused. "If it's not us being attacked, the fuck could it be? We're not gay."

"This looks kind of gay," Dipper pointed out. "We're lying together in the grass, I'm partially on top of you, and we've been kissing."

He scowled at him, and Dipper backed up slightly. "Stop trying to make this fa- gay. We're  _heterosexual life partners_ , not  _homosexual fuckheads_."

There was a simple "yeah" and then he was shuffling off of him completely, returning to his sketchbook. Detaching from him had Bill feeling aggrieved, the loss of contact proved to be irritating when he'd been enjoying himself.

What did he do  _now_? It was like everything he did made Dipper unhappy. "What," his tone was cross. "Are you PMSing now?"

"I'm not," was the snippy comeback. There was the fraction of a second where it seemed Dipper was bristling and about to spit some fireball at him, but it disappeared, making him question if he'd even seen it in the first place. Dipper went in a new direction, revising his response, "Actually, I'm changing that. Yes, I'm PMSing. Coffee and a massage, please."

"I'll meet you at coffee, and you can massage my dick later."

"That's not how it works," he disagreed. "It's coffee  _and_ a massage if you want that blowjob, the one you were talking about earlier."

Bill chuckled. "Could you handle drinking coffee while I massaged you? I think you'd moan too much, it'd just spill down your chin." He was down for that, however. "Would you like to go now? My car should be done."

In the time it took them to walk back to the mechanic, he'd received a text from Stan informing him Wendy and Soos were also participating in the heist, and he wondered if the kids would be invited as well. He didn't dwell on it, collecting his car and speeding to one of his preferred stargazing spots near the base of Mount Chiliad as his celestial friends began to poke through the dusty skyline. It was secluded, the perfect place to watch late afternoon shift into early evening, and he veered off the main road to park in a more hidden area, a ledge and palm trees blocking the view.

Not only a good location for stargazing, but also a good location to get a blowjob.

Dipper already expressed interest in sucking his dick, and Bill would be lying if he said he didn't want to shove his cock down his throat. "Hey cutie," he said smoothly. "Now that no one else is around to enjoy our makeout session, you should join me in the back and we can resume where we left off."

"Is that why you brought me out here?" Dipper asked, head swiveling as he took in his surroundings. Turning back to him, he looked curious, intrigued, but nonetheless mused, "You want to makeout in your backseat?"

Well, not exactly, but he figured Dipper could find out a little later on. "You interested?" If Dipper wasn't, that'd be disappointing, and he'd probably have to be upfront about the blowjob.

"Yeah."

And then they were in the backseat, Bill leaned against the leather and the door while Dipper was perched in his lap, recommencing the activities that the phone call interrupted. It'd started out shy and tentative with Dipper constantly checking to ensure it was deserted, but soon he'd been distracted by a myriad of kisses. At first chaste, they'd escalated into sloppy and rough and at this point may as well just be tonguing each other with how desperate it was. After some urging, Dipper had begun grinding against him once more, Bill encouraging the movements by gently rubbing his sharp hip bones.

The friction was beginning to generate light pleasure, and Bill made a low moan in his mouth from the grinding as he dug his fingers into soft skin. Breaking from the kiss, a rather flushed Dipper panted, shuffling in his lap as if he was trying to get closer but couldn't with how they were positioned. "You— you're," he breathed, "too tall for this."

"Maybe we should change positions," he huffed, their foreheads pressed together, damp with sweat from the heat of the car in the San Andreas evening air. "Not too tall if you're mouthing my dick instead."

"Ha," he said, sweeping his hair back as he leaned away. "Okay, but a couple things first. You still owe me the coffee and massage, and.. you're totally sure that you're clean, right?"

Wow, the kid agreed quicker than Bill had thought he would. "Of course," he said with a smirk. "And I'm clean as sanitizer, doll. You won't catch anything from me." Now, if they weren't doing oral and Dipper had working parts, that'd be a different story with a potential pregnancy since Bill didn't do condoms.

Determined, Dipper gave a small nod, then scooted further to rest on his stomach, positioning himself near the front of his slacks. "Remember, I— I haven't, uh, done this before, so..." his voice tapered off unsurely, his attention returning to the task at hand.

Steadying himself with one hand gripping the seat, his other on his thighs, he leaned forward and Bill could've melted already; the kid's warm breath could be felt through the fabric, and he just wanted him to get on with it. But it seemed that wasn't in the cards as he took his time, nosing along the bulge until he hesitantly drew back. "Can you.." he looked away, "take off your pants? I don't think I can do it at this angle. Well, maybe, but it'd be kind of inconvenient."

Bill balanced himself, unhooking his slacks and pulling both them and his boxers down. It wasn't taking them off like Dipper requested, but they were out of the way and Bill's hard cock was ready to pound his mouth. "There, sweetheart," he exhaled.

Looking transfixed, the words snapped him from his daze and he gave a shaky, "Okay, um.. uhh, let's see." Reclaiming his earlier position, Dipper paused, seemingly just.. taking him in, and not in the way Bill wanted him to. It was like the kid was sizing him up, daunted by this but all the same genuinely trying to figure out how he could make the experience pleasant. Dipper probably had ten separate mental plans of approach by now.

"C'mon, cutie," Bill murmured. "It's not sudoku, don't overthink this. You'll do fine."

Gaining confidence or maybe shoving his reservations aside, he experimentally licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the head. The warm sensation made him shiver with delight, moaning in encouragement for Dipper to continue. The glance he received from Dipper was a grateful one, an expression of relief. All he could do was stare pleadingly in return; now that he'd gotten a little, Bill's impatience was spiking.

Then, he parted his lips to engulf him in hot, wet heat, sinking down as far as his mouth and throat would allow, reducing Bill to a gasp of sheer enjoyment. As Dipper paused there for a moment while he probably considered his next move, Bill's cock tingled, stirring and almost  _burning_ just from the simple motion of being swallowed. At least the kid had an ounce of sense and grasped the concept of avoiding a toothy collision, a beginner's mistake, though he guessed he wouldn't be opposed to a little roughness either.

Sliding back up and down again, he seemed to get a better feel for what he was doing, finally starting to apply a light suction into the rhythmic bobbing of his head. Though the pace was less than steady, highlighting inexperience, it was still damn good, and he couldn't complain. Bill had been wanting to fuck his throat for a long time, he wasn't going to miss out on this opportunity.

Relaxing into the sensations by slumping further against the car door, he groaned as Dipper sucked him off, lightly making thrusting motions in sync with the movements. It was hard not to help himself when all Bill could think about was surrounding his cock in the tight heat of Pine Tree's throat.

The increase in roughness caused him to retract, gagging and coughing into Bill's thigh. Once he'd gotten it together, he huskily asked, "Could.. you not?"

"Pine Rose," he whined. The cold air that surrounded his wet dick wasn't the best feeling when he wanted to fuck a hot orifice. "It's a part of the blowjob, doll."

"But I— oh, fine." Dipper rolled his eyes, settling back in to continue. "I just thought  _you'd_ have more control, since you're so experienced."

Bill was seriously tempted to snap at him. "I have  _plenty_  of control cutie. I'm adding to the blowjob experience with my thrusting." All he wanted was to fuck him raw. There was nothing wrong with that.

He gave a little hmmph of disapproval but returned to enveloping him in his mouth, rather clumsy until he got back into his previous rhythm. Once again, Bill moaned, his hand resting on Dipper's head, closing around his hair in a fist. "D-don't stop, sugar." As if trying to gauge how he was doing, Dipper peered up at Bill through his sooty lashes while he continued to suck and bob. Bill's moans were rising in pitch and frequency as a burning that started deep within his body turned into a fire spreading throughout every vein. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten action and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

Now adjusted to the basics, as he'd been at this for a bit, Dipper seemed to be more daring in what he tried and that began with hollowing his cheeks. The change alone had equipped Bill with new sensations, all mind-blowingly wonderful. "Faster," he panted, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

It was  _painful,_ stopping himself from using his grip on Dipper's hair to force him into choking on his length. "You're d-doing so," he breathed, " _so_ good, cutie." He couldn't wait to coat his mouth with white, and it seemed his climax was approaching rapidly with how his fingers twitched, body shook— the utterly needy noises coming from him.

It got even better when Dipper had an apparent burst of inspiration and mixed it up, relying on his soft tongue to tease the more sensitive spots, then surprising him by taking him nearly down to the base. The way he slid back to swirl around the head again send him into a series of tremors, and Bill shuddered as he neared his edge.

"Doll, I'm–" he wasn't able to finish the warning—Dipper taking in most of his cock caught him off guard—as he convulsed, consumed in the most basic of pleasure as he came thickly into Dipper's mouth, grasp tightening. Thank the stars he didn't jerk away this time, allowing him to ride out the waves of ecstasy as it flooded through him, drowning out his every sense.

It left Bill little more than a shaking, hot mess, and he sank against the seat in a blissed daze. He felt exhausted, drained, like he could sleep for a year.

When Dipper did shuffle from him, he immediately rotated to open the car door and lean over the edge of the seat as he sputtered and spat onto the ground, wiping excess saliva and cum from this mouth after he finished.

"Cutie." He managed, sounding out of it. "You were amazing, perfect." He apparently needed more action if a couple minutes of having his dick sucked sent him spiraling into an orgasm.

Dipper grinned sheepishly. "So," he murmured, "I'm guessing it was.. okay?"

Bill laughed. "Yeah. C'mon sugar, let's get coffee and we can do the massage later when we're at the penthouse." On the way to the coffee shop, he could ask Dipper if his cum tasted buttery like pancakes.

* * *

After some coffee drinking, night driving while watching the stars come out, and their usual banter, Bill had driven them back with the intention of treating Dipper to the best damn massage he'd ever had. As far as he was concerned, the kid deserved it after actually sucking him off like he'd promised, indulging him so sweetly.

Considering it was Dipper, the nervous virgin of all virgins, he'd thought he would bail at the last minute, so it had been a pleasant surprise. If Bill had known sexual favors would be the delicious reward of agreeing to be exclusive friends with benefits, he would've proposed the idea ages ago.

Stepping into the penthouse, Bill wasted no time in grabbing Dipper by the wrist and pulling him from the door. It elicited a little noise of surprise but he didn't stop, pinning him to the nearest wall. Things heated as he collided his lips into Dipper's, hands moving to snake along the back of his legs and ass; he loved touching that booty, it was soft and tender, and it made Dipper squeak. Dipper must have equally loved it, pressing into the touch, raising his leg to suggestively slide it over his waist, a wordless plea to get hotter and heavier.

Christ, the kid was practically throwing himself at him. What a slut. His slut. Pine Tree was a slut for  _him_ , and that was more arousing than he'd thought it'd be.

Bill deepened the kiss, tasting the sweetness of his mouth as his tongue met Dipper's, gliding together with a shared eagerness. His hands squeezed Dipper's ass, switching tactics to stroke his thighs and hips. Hoisting him up, Bill felt Dipper's legs wrap around his waist as if it was an instinct, crossing over his lower back, and he nudged closer to him.

Suddenly, the lights flicked on, casting them in a golden glow. Bill didn't even have time to process the change in their environment when he heard a familiar squeal.

"OH MY GOSH! IT'S SO CUTE!" Mabel had arrived, wasting no time to veer over to them. The interruption caused Dipper to break the kiss, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed, staring at her. "Keep going! I want to watch!" At the declaration, his eyes widened to saucers.

Bill didn't care if she hung around to watch, and he made a move to resume the kiss. It was thwarted when Dipper tilted his head away, resulting in Bill kissing his chin. "Don't be like this, cutie. Neither of us mind!"

" _I_ mind, and I think we should move to your bedroom," Dipper said, the slightest of pitiful laughs falling from him. It was followed by a loud, disappointed 'aww' noise, and he added, "Sorry, Mabel."

"No you're not," Mabel pouted. "You never let me watch your sex life in action. I let you do it!"

In his arms, he felt Dipper completely tense, visibly uncomfortable with this topic. "I didn't  _want_ to witness that. I just had really, really bad timing with walking in."

As funny as their sibling bickering was, Bill knew he wouldn't be getting more action if Dipper worked himself up. Moving his arms to acquire a more secure grip, he drew away from the wall and carried him into his bedroom. "Relax, kitten. She's not going to watch."

Placing him on the bed, Bill directed Dipper to strip and get onto his stomach, meanwhile he rummaged through his nightstand drawer to produce some lotion. Hopefully, that'd help with this massage.

Rubbing some onto his hands, he kneaded the soft flesh of Dipper's back. He was smooth and squishy, and as he massaged him, he was met with the sounds of Dipper's undeniably lewd moans of approval and pleasure. Although he knew they had to be intentionally suggestive, Bill continued to take his time, admiring Dipper like this. Vulnerable, beautiful, loving his hands on him.

Illustrating his point, Dipper's back arched beneath the touch, desperate for more, and Bill was beginning to drool at the thought of getting a better taste of this  _gorgeous_  kid. His ass was being raised invitingly– it was like he  _wanted_  Bill to pounce.

And oh, did Bill want to as well. He'd wanted to do this for some time.

But he was a  _gentleman_ , and he couldn't just jump into rimming him like some  _savage_. Easing Dipper into it was the best approach. Bill planted some small kisses along his back, starting by his shoulders and following his spine down in a trail. Reacting to the sudden added sensuality, Dipper shivered, clearly enjoying the change of direction in his massage.

Now he could have a taste, and he moved his hands to spread Dipper open, and he leaned in to lick him.

Dipper's body jolted forward, instantly scrambling away from him to sit up. Gawking with alarm shining in his eyes, his mouth fell open in obvious shock like he didn't even know what to say. "Um, h-ha— what.. what was  _that_?"

Did Dipper not like it? "I was going to eat you out, doll."

Although he winced at the wording, Dipper still looked surprised. "I— it's.. not like I'm against it, it's just.." he swallowed, "why not blow me instead? Rimming seems really… intimate."

"That's a no. A hard no. I don't  _blow_ , okay?" His surprise shifted to confusion. "That's gay and I'm not gay." It didn't help he tried it once for money and it… didn't go very well. "Honey, if you want oral you'll either need to settle for being eaten out or I guess our friends with benefits won't be very exclusive anymore."

Head tilted, the puzzled question tumbled from him, "Wait, you don't.. give blowjobs, then? Like, at all?"

Bill didn't think it was that difficult of a concept to grasp, but Dipper seemed to be struggling with comprehension. "No. I… refuse to. Case closed." Blowjobs were not up for negotiation, it wasn't happening. "Would you like to continue or not, cutie?" After this, Bill was expecting an enthusiastic  _yes_.

"Oh, uh, sure," it was said after a moment. "Do you want me on my stomach again?"

How else would he lap his sweet hole? "Yes, ass up."

Dipper lowered himself to the sheets again, parting his legs as an afterthought. Over his shoulder, he strained to look at him and asked, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed as he moved back into place, hungrily eyeing him up. His tongue danced along his hole, Dipper tensing beneath him in anticipation while a shuddering breath escaped. After a moment of this, Bill changed up his tactic– he knew he wasn't a completely fragile flower, and he pushed his tongue into him gently.

It drew a sharp noise from his Pine Rose, and the sensation had him squirming with pleasure. "A-ah, keep going," he said in encouragement. "Feels good."

Teasing and taking his time, Bill withdrew his tongue from inside of him, circling around his rim, the mere movement eliciting some combination of eager albeit simultaneously dissatisfied sounds from Dipper. "Come on, I know you're, _aah_ , uh— teasing," he heard him huff with impatience, the words coming out in shaky puffs. " _More_." He plunged his tongue in again, this time only pulling back enough to tease his inner edge. It was almost like he was fucking him, minus his dick.

Bill had been so focused on enjoying Dipper with his mouth that he almost hadn't realized his thighs were beginning to quiver, and with a burst of pride determined he must've been enjoying himself. Well, if that wasn't visible enough from his noises, growing in volume and desire. A small mantra of 'please' and 'more' and 'oh god', sometimes with delicious moans of his name added in, started to spill from Pine Rose as Bill continued rimming.

By now, the squirming had intensified as his hips twitched and jerked. Although a sign of enjoyment and it suggested he was getting close, his inability to still made the process difficult. It was tempting to pin him down and hold him in place; however, Bill settled for squeezing his hips instead as he thrusted his tongue into him.

Hearing Dipper fall apart made it well beyond worth it. Bill had never been with someone so responsive, so unbelievably sensitive, someone that seemingly craved his every touch. Dipper's shaking became wilder, back arching with such wanton need that it even spurred Bill on, enthusiastically tonguing and kissing his tight hole.

And the sounds he made— oh stars, they were nothing short of music to his ears, desperate pleas and moans of his name, brokenly crying out in absolute gibberish like any previously coherent thoughts had abandoned him.

"B-Bill, _oh_ — oh god," he whined, strained. Dipper's breath was audibly catching, staggered, his body tightening with an impending, ever-nearing climax. "I'm... I'm going t-to—  _Bill_!" Hips jerking forward, his release spurted over the sheets, a taut moan on the tip of Dipper's tongue.

Bill faintly chuckled as he pulled away, grinning at Dipper's exhausted and splayed form, ragged pants forcing his chest to heave. They'd need to wash the sheets, but the experience had been damn rewarding. "Liked being eaten out, doll?" A dazed nod. "We should do that more often." And they would.

Moving to stand, Bill briefly disappeared into the adjoining bathroom to grab a damp towel, and upon returning, he ushered Dipper away to clean him and what he could of the bed up. As he did, he nuzzled his puddle of a heterosexual life partner affectionately. "You tasted delicious, sugar."

Working on steadying his breath, Dipper mumbled, "..'m sorry about.. your sheets."

"It'll come out," he responded as he kissed his cheek. He discarded the towel to the side before he joined Dipper in bed, draping an arm across him.

With the quietest of happy hums, Dipper was collapsing into him, body limp like a ragdoll. "That was really good," he admitted, scattering kisses over his collarbone. "I… I wasn't sure at first, but  _wow_." Bill chuckled at that, finding amusement in his confession and an ego boost in the compliment.

The blush still apparent, Dipper seemed to be worlds away and content, and Bill found him irresistible in that moment, how he looked at him with those big brown eyes, dopey with devotion. One gentle kiss later, Bill murmured, "You're so adorable."

Dipper smirked tiredly, managing to joke, "Thanks, you too."

Although he received a playful glare, Bill nuzzled him afterward and protectively pulled Dipper close, wondering how he'd gone his entire life without this.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): violence, blood, brief mentions of suicide.

"Alright," Stan's voice boomed to the crew gathered in the penthouse, minus Bill. "Here's how we're gonna split ya up, since we can't all fit into one vehicle. Twins will be with twins in ours, then the rest of ya can cram together in Bill's."

Fingers twitching restlessly at his sides, it wasn't until Stan had finished speaking that Dipper realized he'd forgotten to breathe. He and Mabel been warned this heist would be intense, posing a real risk with the number of things that could go wrong. And he knew it had to be true, it wasn't an exaggeration since they were stooping to even giving him a firearm when he had very little training with it. For emergencies, Ford had said as he'd handed over the weapon, the grave words ringing in his ears and creating an overwhelming echo that had a fresh burst of anxiety trickling through him.

With the announcement concluding, the crew was buzzing with conversation, everybody scrambling to get fitted with last minute gear or finding certain items before they departed for the heist itself.

The approach of footsteps alerted him to Bill's return, and Dipper looked in time to see him slipping on his own combat vest, then adjusting his assault rifle. "Hey," he greeted, scuffing his foot against the carpet nervously, "I'm going to miss you." They weren't riding together, and he likely wouldn't be seeing much of Bill on the heist considering he'd be with Stan or walking the premises — meanwhile, he and Mabel were back to being assigned to lookout duty.

Puzzled, Bill demanded, "What does that mean?" A moment later, that was followed by an annoyed, "What the fuck did I miss?"

"Stan gave our vehicle assignments. We're," he motioned to himself and Mabel, "with Stan and Ford."

"No, you're not."

What? He was pretty sure it didn't work like that, they couldn't choose their seats after Stan had given them, though he knew Bill had been acting strangely protective of him ever since they'd returned from his place in Paleto Bay. Bill shot Stan a look, and Dipper followed his gaze to see him helping Soos with the headset. "Pine Tree's with me, Stanley. Not you. Not your brother. Me."

Without glancing away, Stan began to object, "These kids're goin' with us, Bill."

"It's safer and more practical," Ford insisted, and while Dipper was inclined to agree with him, he sort of wanted to be with Bill. "They're quite new at this and may require extra information or reminders."

"That's what I'm for," Bill snapped. "They'll be fine with me. They were fine on the other heist, and Shooting Star  _actually_  got some firearm experience. You'll just baby them."

Impressively geared and ready to leave, Mabel jumped in, "Let us go with him, Stan! I want some action! Pow! Pow! Pow!" Dipper winced at her poor mimic of a gun firing.

Wendy added coolly, "They did fine when that car job went south. Loosen up."

"Stanley and I will not be swayed by such—" Ford seemed to notice the rather guilty expression Stan wore. His reaction was a disgusted and irate, "Oh, for heaven's sake."

"So we're going with Bill?" Dipper confirmed, brightening. "Thanks, we promise we'll be good."

The last of Stan's resolve seemed to break. "Yeah, yeah. You two will be goin' with Bill  _and_  Wendy. Soos'll go with us."

Bill darkened again. "Hey, I didn't say I wanted Ice Bag in my car."

"Too bad, she's goin' whether ya like it or not."

"Can't handle being outshone?" Wendy teased, no malice in her comment, yet Dipper awaited the brutal response from Bill since he almost definitely wouldn't see it as a joke.

"I can't handle being around such a goddamn whore."

Trying to jump in and redirect where this was going, Dipper asked Bill, "Can you help get this on?" In his hands was the headset, the communication line for this heist. Placing it on himself was basically impossible when his movement was restricted by the rifle sling and heavy firearm, not to mention the other miscellaneous items he'd been asked to carry; Ford's equation had foretold the dilemma, as it was clear he had the wrong body type for this.

It was a relief he was a lookout for this heist. A quick getaway or the ability to walk around without becoming exhausted wasn't in the cards.

Bill approached him and took the headset, placing it on his head and securing it, drawing a small verbal appreciation from Dipper. "Those noodle arms aren't doing you any good, cutie."

"I have a  _rifle on my back_ ," Dipper reminded him with a huff and a frown, "and I'm carrying ammunition." Well, the rest of the Owls had the same supplies—if not more—but they also weren't his weight, and they likely had more strength training.

Before Bill could reply, Ford addressed the crew, "Swap to codenames because I believe we're prepared to leave. Is everyone sufficiently geared?"

Mentally, he took inventory of what he was carrying: emergency flare, firearm and ammunition, headset, mini flashlight, personal first-aid kit… and when he determined he was set on supplies, Dipper silently went over the heist plan for what had to be the hundredth time by now, taking precautions when this could be a potentially-endangering heist. A new set of fears had welcomed themselves into his cognition: forgetting the heist plan and blanking out at the worst of times, getting hurt, looking inexperienced or dumb in front of the others.

Around him, he could hear everyone's confirmation, and only gave his own when he was startled from his thoughts with a prompt from Ford.

Falling into step beside him, Bill hummed as they exited the penthouse with the rest of the crew, leaving for the garage. "C'mon cutie, let's roll. You get shotgun."

"I do?" His eyebrows knitted together, and Dipper's mind was left swarmed with questions, such as what value he'd add to that spot or why Bill wouldn't want Wendy, the one with more experience. But then again, perhaps in the case of the latter, he already knew what the hang up was.

"Why wouldn't you? You're the  _navigation expert_ ," although flattered, he was surprised he had a title prior to joining, "and it's my fucking vehicle. You hear that, Ice Bag? My vehicle, my fucking rules."

After they'd pooled into Bill's vehicle, Dipper fell into place as the navigator, not that it was particularly stressful since it was a simple albeit long drive through the city, cruising through backroads and passes. If not for Bill occasionally slinging the unconditional jab at Wendy, the ride would've been perfectly smooth.

Talking up a storm about anything and everything, Mabel ensured there wasn't a quiet moment within the vehicle, though Dipper personally found it comforting while he was growing increasingly anxious about this heist. "...until I'm famous. My face'll be plastered on WANTED posters and it'll be like I'm a celebrity but better! They'll throw money at me and chant my name without me having to take my clothes off," Dipper internally cringed, "and everyone will love me and not just for my fabulous booty."

Dipper reminded her, "Everyone already loves you for your personality, Shooting Star." In the rearview mirror, he could see Wendy nod in agreement and nudge Mabel's shoulder.

Bill chuckled. "I love her for her ambition. You remind me of me in some ways, and I like that. You're a favorite."

Dipper felt a twinge of hurt. He didn't.. want to be jealous of Mabel, of the genuine compliment she drew from Bill so easily, but Bill had never called him a favorite before. Dejectedly, he shifted away and trained his attention to the passenger window, focusing on the dirty sidewalks and burnt sun setting in the distance.

They were on a job, and this wasn't a time to be stupidly emotional over something that shouldn't matter, but it bothered him more than he thought it would.  _Mabel_ was apparently a favorite when they didn't spend that much time with one another, not anything like what he and Bill did. Bill and Mabel weren't exclusive friends with benefits,  _they_ weren't heterosexual life partners.

He could see Bill glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Hey cutie, you look down. What's on your mind?"

Unsure how to answer, Dipper weighed his options. He could be honest with Bill, he could lie to Bill, or he could deflect the question. The first choice wasn't too appealing under the current circumstances, and he didn't think Bill would understand anyway. He'd probably just call him gay, like the word was poison in his mouth, and it wasn't worth that. Tackling that particular issue would be an entire discussion by itself and spark vexation, something he wished to avoid before a mission. Being unable to keep himself in check on a heist, no less, had him feeling frustrated and immature, as if suggesting he was incapable of logically working through his envy. No wonder Bill couldn't take him seriously sometimes, no wonder he wasn't a favorite.

"Pine Rose?"

In the midst of his thought train, he must have forgotten to reply at all. Clearing his throat, he peered to the driver's side with a conscience-stricken, "Oh, hi."

Bill stared at him. "You okay?"

Dipper was leaning toward 'no' on that one but stayed quiet, wishing he could ignore the problem so it would resolve itself.

"Hey man, welcome back," Wendy said. "Thought we lost you there."

"Shut it, Ice Bag." Bill snapped at her.

"No, it's okay," Dipper reassured in an attempt to prevent an argument from breaking out, another thing they didn't need. Fighting had no place in business, nor did jealousy as he reminded himself. "She, uh, didn't do anything wrong."

Bill glanced back at him, impatience ingrained in his golden features. "You never answered me, Pine Tree."

Deflection had been a flop. That left him one remaining escape, though he'd never been wonderful at lying. "I'm just y'know, thinking. Thinking about the heist, and other stuff." Dishonesty wasn't the preferred course of action, and he figured it was close enough to the truth that it didn't even count as a lie… hopefully.

"Is that all?" Bill inquired. "You looked upset."

Nervously chuckling, his eyes darted, and he rubbed his neck. "Yeah, I'm fine." And he was, at least. Kind of, not really. He was trying to be.

Bill's eyes narrowed, and Dipper realized he was seeing through him, knew him too well. "Are you… pouting over what I said to Shooting Star?"

Utterly transparent.

Guilt overtaking him now that he'd been caught, Dipper averted his gaze downward while a pained expression settled on his face. This wasn't the most opportune time, yet he didn't know how to convey that. "Bill.." it was quiet, a small murmur as he tried to suggestively flick his eyes toward the back where Mabel and Wendy sat, an audience to this private issue. It seemed Bill was determined to talk about this, his ridiculous overreaction, but Dipper didn't want to do it in front of spectators.

"What was that?" Mabel near-yelled at them, the outburst causing Dipper to flinch. "We can't hear the lovebird drama!"

Bill shushed her, eyes remaining on Dipper. "We're talking about this later, okay?"

At least he wasn't insisting on doing this right now. A resigned "okay" fell from him, though he didn't know when they'd have time for discussion with an impending heist on the horizon.

"If this  _is_  about the heist, don't stress," Wendy said, her tone encouraging. "Fez wouldn't have let you come with us if he thought you'd be seriously risking your life. He knows you two can handle yourselves." It was touching, and Dipper managed to lopsidedly smile at her, thankful for the friendly reassurance. He and Wendy weren't  _close_ , not like he and Bill were, but he liked Wendy— she seemed cool, relaxed. Admirable, since he wished he could be the same by letting little things roll off of him.

"Why the fuck can't you keep your mouth closed?" Bill growled at Wendy. "Shut the hell up for once in your life, you cumslurping slut." Bill's comment had Dipper sending a sharp look in his direction, stunned by the vulgarity of it. And lashing out at Wendy, no less? He'd known they had a rough history but name-calling was overboard.

"Yikes," Wendy muttered under her breath, eyebrows furrowing in thought as she regarded Bill. "What's your problem today? I've hardly said a word to you."

Bill huffed. "My  _problem_  is that you won't shut your fucking mouth. You keep yapping away and it's  _infuriating_. This is my vehicle," he said coldly, "and I'll kick you to the street if you keep fucking talking."

"Dude, take a chill pill," she said with an eye-roll. "This can't actually be about me 'yapping away.'" There was a pause and a laugh, and she asked, "Are you still mad about sleeping together like a year ago? It wasn't a big deal." Although it was strange to hear it from Wendy since the thought of their rendezvous made him uncomfortable, it wasn't shocking by any means. Bill had alluded to their hookup several times previously.

Bill bristled. "I AM a big deal! And you thought so too, when you were begging for my dick."

Mabel let out an 'oooooo' noise before Wendy could respond. "Look out Pine Tree, you have competition!"

Did he? Their interactions had suggested nothing of the sort. It hinted more at being on bad terms than on the verge of another hookup. "I.. I don't really think—"

"You two are together now?" It was accompanied by a chuckle. "Oh, man. Did he have to drug you or something?"

Although he'd been about to let her know they weren't actually together, Bill's voice rang out, likely beating him to it: "Unlike you, I don't need to rely on drugs to get a date." ...Or not.

"I thought you were going to tell her we weren't together?" Dipper half-said, half-questioned. To the others, including Bill, he clarified, "We're not together."

Bill chuckled, winking toward the back. "He's just shy."

"I'm not!"

Now appearing more invested in the conversation, Wendy prompted, "So which is it?"

"We're not," he insisted with a rather unhappy sideways glance at Bill, as if daring him to speak out against that. "Not.. romantically. We're not dating."

"Eh, figured," she shrugged. "Fez doesn't allow anyone in the crew to date, not that he'd bother upholding his own rule. He'd moan about it, but he's kind of a pushover about stuff like that. Makes me think he's secretly a hopeless romantic."

Bill snickered. "He  _is_ a romantic, just ask Six Fingers." More seriously, he glanced at Dipper. "Exclusive but not dating, oh how you  _wound me_ , Pine Rose."

"I didn't think it'd make a difference to you," Dipper muttered bitterly, unable to ease the lingering jealousy or irritation with his previous remarks, "since I'm not a  _favorite_." The second the words were out had him facing insurmountable embarrassment and regret. He should have held his tongue, should have waited until they were alone, shouldn't be upset by it since it wasn't as if they were actually—

"Oh, so you  _were_  bothered by that. Cutie, why didn't you say so?"

"Because…" he dropped into a hiss while his gaze drifted toward the corner of his vision again, accompanied by a vague hand motion indicating the backseat. "You know." Them.

Bill shook his head. "Doll, you are THE favorite." It had him blushing again, but not from embarrassment. Dipper could've melted when he added, "You're the one I care about, so stop being so damn jealous."

"Look, it's.." he looked downward, shifting his weight with sudden self-consciousness. "I can't help it. I know it's dumb." And he hated it, that he had intermittent control of his emotions with this and couldn't rein himself back in when he was just being irrational.

"I suppose you can't," Bill murmured. "Not when you have such a handsome stud around. Ladies can't keep their emotions in check near me."

Wendy pointed out, "Actually, us ladies have been fine. Pine Tree was the who had an emotional outburst."

There was a protest on the tip of his tongue, as it hadn't been an  _emotional outburst_ , but Bill spoke first, his dichromatic gaze stony. "Whores don't count as ladies. Sorry, Shooting Star."

"It's okay!" Mabel said. "I'm proud of my sexual prowess."

"Did you just call my sister a whore?" Dipper bristled, knowing Wendy was giving a retort of her own but too annoyed to hear it.

"Hey, cutie. I didn't say a thing that wasn't true."

Still upset over that, he looked away from Bill, eyes narrowed with contention. It was unfortunate, the heavy implication that Bill didn't actually respect people or their feelings after what Dipper had been doing to change that. If they hadn't been in the presence of Mabel and Wendy, he would have safeworded, but he recognized it wouldn't have made sense now. They weren't in a place where they could have a discussion about this.

Wendy sighed, the noise capturing her frustration. "You don't need to be a jerk all the time, Bill."

Bill grumbled. "I'm not a jerk, you're just a bitch. Fuck off."

" _Ugh_ ," Dipper groaned, approaching the end of his patience. "Just stop already." The bickering was stressing him out, and it wasn't as if this verbal dispute was over anything of importance. It was childish, petty drama over petty things, and he didn't need to get worked up more than he already was before the heist.

That seemed to get them to quit, and he could hear Bill shuffle beside him. "Pine Rose," he softly addressed him.

"Bill."

"Why are you upset?"

He frowned and said, "You didn't need to pick that fight." Remembering it hadn't even began there, he thought back to the countless times earlier that Wendy had received an unnecessarily cruel response. "Not just that one but the whole heist so far, you've been kind of a dick to Ice Bag."

Bill scowled. "She's been fucking…" he trailed off, glancing away. "Right, fine. I'll stop."

Grateful and pleasantly surprised, Dipper blinked at him. "Thanks." Maybe… it had been an overstatement earlier, thinking Bill had made no progress whatsoever, because while he had a long way to go, it seemed he was at least willing to admit his wrongdoing.

"Somebody's  _whipped_ ," Mabel teased in a melodic tone, giggling, but Dipper could see Bill's hands tightening on the steering wheel until the tips of his knuckles were white.

"Nah, he's not.. whipped. He's just— being decent." And that was an accomplishment when the person in question was Bill Cipher, so he amended that with, "Better than decent."

The time between the remainder of the drive and getting in their positions seemed to fly by. They'd met up in a back alley near the museum, turned on headsets, and Ford had checked in with Fiddleford McGucket via the radio to ensure systems were down, though they'd been warned a handful of security guards likely still lurked around the establishment. And Stan had said that was where their guns came in; they were to use them if necessary, not that Dipper felt confident doing so when he'd never handled a firearm in his life, or had the desire to kill anybody.

His and Mabel's positions were swapped— today, he was placed toward the front entrance while Mabel was a lookout near the back. Ford was on the rooftop, ready to snipe should the need arise, Bill was patrolling to take down any remaining guards, and the rest were navigating the museum and retrieving the artifact.

The hallway was secluded and dark, a bit creepy with the large paintings plastered on the walls, but overall quiet. Pacing lightly at his station and trying to avoid getting distracted, Dipper listened to the communication through his headset. The majority was Stan asking for directions and Ford helping him through the corridors and levels of the building, but occasionally Bill would disclose the location of a guard, then determine if it was safe to stealth-kill or not.

Dipper tried not to think about that one too hard. It made him queasy.

The familiar crackle of Bill's voice stole Dipper's attention as he reported quietly: "Target out of bounds, he's on the move."

"Where?" came Ford's response, alert. "If exiting, I can handle it."

Stan almost immediately answered. "Won't be an issue. We're almost done."

"Got the thing we came for, dudes," Soos added. "Just tell us how to get out, Mr. F- uh, Six.. Fingers sir."

Mabel's voice cut in. "Ooh, hi, Bill! I see you! You just passed me!" Immediately, Dipper perked up after he heard Mabel, his worries about the mission catching up with him and despite knowing he would've been notified if something had gone wrong, it didn't stop his concern for her. But then again, she was probably more capable than he was when it came to defending herself with the firearm they'd been provided.

"While I'm aware this is not a two-way communication line," Ford cleared his throat, "please keep it open for—"

"Shut it, Sixer. Hello Shooting Star!"

"Hey, Bill," Stan started, "sounds like you're at the back. Could ya do one last check 'round the place? Meet us at the vehicles when you're done. Think we'll be out by then." Bill's response was a casual hum of confirmation.

A few minutes went by, and Dipper became more anxious to leave his post, as it seemed like Stan, Wendy, and Soos were nearing the exit that Mabel was stationed at.

"Departing for the vehicles," Ford announced, a vague warning that the sniping protection and outside lookout were no longer available, which meant the heist was coming to a close without any serious, life-threatening hang ups, much to his relief. He and Bill were the only ones lacking the all clear to ditch the building and return to the pickup location.

The sound of approaching footsteps, the squeak of shoes scratching over linoleum, grabbed his interest. Dipper peered to the source of the noise, not yet in view. "Huh, I think I hear you coming, Bill."

"Uh, not me, doll."

"What?" it was a squeak, not even registering the possibility of somebody else until… until he remembered there was a remaining security guard walking the premises, the one that Bill had reported. 

Pulse leaping into his throat, he harshly whispered through a shaking voice, " _Mango_." While he otherwise may have been impressed by his memory for codewords in a high pressure situation, he didn't have time to dwell on that, following his previous statement with a panicked, "What do I do?" Seconds away from a meltdown and rooted in place, his attention was glued to the end of the corridor where he and... whoever that was would fatefully, maybe  _fatally_ , cross paths.

Two responses came at once, one from Bill and the other from Ford:

"I'll be there in a second, cutie. Hang tight."

"Get out, preferably. Hide if not."

Desperate eyes scanned his surroundings, looking for a place to escape to since there was certainly no place to hide, but the sole route was in the line of the approaching stranger.

"...won't be there in time, Bill. You're too far away," Stan gruffly said. "Kid, ya gotta shoot 'em." Dipper froze, panic gripping him as the footsteps grew louder. "Don't let the bastard beat ya to the draw. They carry here."

Bill's was insistent. "I'll be there soon, you shouldn't have to do that."

"Fuckin' shoot 'em, Pine Tree. Bill's not gonna make it."

Stan's advice had his heart pounding, body rushing with adrenaline, senses blotted with fight or flight— he couldn't  _shoot somebody_ , there was no way. He couldn't kill, he couldn't live with himself for ending someone else's life. Unable to breathe, Dipper backed up, trying to put as much space between him and the guard, still out of sight but the distance joining them grew smaller every moment, the footsteps louder. He wanted to cry for help, but the words and ability to speak in general had been stolen from him, as he was reduced to shallow gasps of air. Exhaling felt impossible, his chest cavity winding tighter and tighter while his eyes were trained on the end of the hallway, waiting for the inevitable moment.

Continuing to back away, he fumbled to grab his rifle but it was a futile motion when his hands felt too heavy to lift on their own, much less hold a firearm with. Survival instinct screamed at him to ready his weapon, prepare to shoot, but he just couldn't.

It added an extra dose of fear, of tense and wildly horrifying anticipation, when he could see the beginnings of the stranger's shadow. It loomed over the wall, fully consuming him. With the blood in his ears, a deafening thumping, he couldn't even hear the footsteps now, nor did he register Stan's shouting to kill the person or Bill's hushed pleas to hang on.

And then, the figure turned the corner. Dipper could do nothing but stand, fixed to the spot, trapped and stuck, unable to move. His eyes were huge and terrified, only squeezing closed when the guard raised the handgun at him, yelling something but he couldn't decipher what when it seemed the world was caving in around him— this was it. He knew the moment of truth had arrived, and it was a matter of time until he felt the bullets ripping through him, shredding him to bloody bits.

The shot went off, loud and drowning out all other noise, all his thoughts. This had to be the end, the numbness of injury and bleeding out, he was soaking through his clothes with crimson or already dead and his hands ghosted over his body to find the gushing wound that'd end his time in the physical world.

Surprisingly intact, Dipper peeked an eye open then gasped at the sight before him. The security guard had collapsed to the ground, a chunk of his skull missing from the back of his head as blood pooled around him.

With Dipper's jaw falling open in shock, the metallic scent of blood hit him, the smell proving to be immediately overwhelming and sickening. He went pale, doubling over. It was so familiar and just like that, he wasn't in a museum.

He was in his house, his actual home, and he was seeing  _them_ for the first time. No, not them— their bodies, what remained of them. The pool of blood, the horrifying mixture of gunsmoke and blood in the air, the bodies collapsed in a heap, a mangled mess of gore. Dipper heard a scream and didn't know where it'd come from, couldn't remember if it was his own.

The edges of his vision had disappeared. It was dissolved into a blurry kaleidoscope of what laid before him, dead and broken, and his numb legs carried him forward as if he was stuck in a trance. The feeling of nausea heightened, his stomach churned, he couldn't stop staring. Dipper felt like he was going to vomit, looking at them all over again and remembering the intense pain, sickness, the dread.

From beyond his limits of perception, someone was calling out to him, someone that didn't belong in his recollection of events.

"Pine Rose," Bill's voice broke through his thoughts, the scene shifting back to reality. Dipper was pretty sure he was going to vomit. Even if it wasn't his parents, it was still looking at a dead guy surrounded by his own blood. "Earth to Pine Rose, you there? We gotta go, cutie."

"I—" he tried, choked. "I.." Words weren't coming, no matter what he did; he couldn't seem to move on from his disturbing thoughts, or the discomfort of panic holding onto him so tightly he was shocked he didn't implode.

He could feel himself being grabbed, lifted up, and swept away by Bill. Over the radio, Stan spoke, "What the fuck is going on? We heard a gunshot."

"Don't worry about it," Bill responded. "I got Pine Tree. He's safe, but you guys go ahead."

* * *

Dipper didn't know how long they'd been driving, just that they'd gone through several songs lowly playing on the radio. His head pressed against the window of the passenger seat while the city sights rolled like a movie, as if he was a spectator taking it in instead of a part of his surroundings. He felt detached, couldn't stop thinking about what'd happened back there even though the panic had faded.

"Cutie?" Bill murmured quietly, a gentleness to his words. "How're you doing?"

Faintly, he remembered the variations of that question he'd been offered throughout the evening. He couldn't find the words to respond, and Bill didn't press, so they'd simply kept driving further from the city into the countryside, though he doubted there was a destination in mind.

Bill broke him from his trance with a thoughtful, "Hey doll, have you looked at the sky yet? The stars are out." After a moment of silence, he continued to ramble. "I always found it fascinating…"

The droning noise of Bill's voice was a comfort, sort of like a soft static, but his thoughts were worlds away. It was a constant, self-deprecating loop where he'd remind himself of how badly he messed up— how could he be a member of the crew if he froze when danger looked him in the eye? It was lucky that Bill had been there to…

Dipper didn't know how to think about it without feeling sick, the gory image only a reminder of his parents' murders. Despite his attempts to keep the mental picture at bay, it haunted him, submerged him into nauseousness every time.

"...how you can see millions of stars just in our night sky, and to some degree, their temperatures."

It didn't stop there, though. It would repeat, bringing him back to the grief itself, how he thought he was over it or rather  _should be_ over it. Like Mabel, he should've been alright by now and able to lead a happy, normal life, yet the agony seemed as palpable as it had the very first night. Nearly two full months had passed along with countless new experiences, no improvement or true healing had occurred.

"The distant blue orbs you see are actually the hottest stars…"

Why would Stan and Ford want someone like him to join the crew? He couldn't hold his own on missions, he could barely hold a firearm. Bill couldn't possibly think he wasn't useless when he'd been right about it all along, even from the start when he said this lifestyle wasn't for him. If he joined, he imagined he'd merely be weighing the rest of the crew down or getting himself killed if Bill couldn't come to the rescue.

"...most common one you'll see is Rigel…"

The thoughts of blood and gore returned, never leaving him alone for long. Dipper couldn't stop seeing it, their lifeless bodies strewn over the hallway, bones and tissue visible, forming a grossly wide bath of their own blood. The memory of the sight was disturbing, far more so than he could ever hope to put into words.

"...the constellation Orion and the sixth brightest star in our sky. It's forty thousand times hotter than the sun."

Finally, Dipper spoke, "Can we.. stop?" His voice was hoarse, hollow, and he hadn't realized he'd cried until now, feeling the trails of dried tears over his cheeks. Reality was alien to him, being caught up in his thoughts for the duration of the ride and making it hard to comprehend when night had fallen over them. Stars were glittering in the sky, the moon big and bright and casting shadows into the vehicle while the occasional pair of headlights passed on the rural road.

"Not into star facts?"

In a clouded and conflicted mind, the joke didn't latch on, and he replied softly, "I just want to be with you." Feeling Bill's embrace would be welcome at a time like this, a physical comfort that'd help him through this depressed haze and cycle of self-loathing.

"Okay, cutie. Do you want me to stop-stop, or do you want me to take us back to the penthouse?"

"I.." he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. The question was too complex for his muddled thoughts. "I don't even know. Just— just stop on the side of the road, or something."

Bill obliged by pulling over on the shoulder, halfway into the ditch, and parking the car. "You want to get in the back?"

He gave a small, noncommittal hum but was already opening his door, moving into the backseat as Bill seemed to get the hint and did the same. He settled onto the leather and guided Dipper to lay mostly on top of him, and he went limp in his arms, burrowing deeply into Bill as the flood of sorrow engulfed him. No tears came with the overwhelming stress and sadness this time, he seemed all cried out but was nonetheless distraught over the events of the heist.

"I'm sorry," he croaked into the fabric of Bill's vest. "I shouldn't.. be like this." However, the grief clung to him like a scar, the intrusive thoughts reemerging. He'd thought he was doing better and moving on with his life, but this led him to believe he'd been mistaken. "It looked s-so," his voice wavered, "much like them, back there. The blood." Dipper doubted he had to explain to Bill that he'd seen it and panicked, what'd happened was obvious enough.

Bill's grip around him tightened protectively, squeezing him in a gentle embrace. "Don't be sorry, doll. Let it out."

There was a lot to say, and he didn't know what to start with, was left wondering if he should share some of his previous thoughts at all. So he held it inside for now, instead pressing closer to Bill, nuzzling the underside of his jaw in a search for comfort. It dawned on him that they'd had this conversation before, so incredibly long ago yet wasn't that long ago at all if time was relative. "Do you," it hung on his tongue for an extra second, "remember the last time we talked about this?"

Recalling the night on the balcony, it was with a heavy heart he realized Bill may have saved him that time as well.

"Yeah," he murmured. "What about it, sweetheart?"

"It feels like everything has changed since then," he sighed, "but I'm still.. grieving over their deaths." It was frustrating, feeling like he should be able to move on but couldn't bring himself to. "I thought— I thought I was okay? But I guess I'm not."

Bill kissed his head. "It'll get better, honey. It's okay to grieve." And the last time they'd talked about this, Dipper knew he hadn't even been half as empathetic about the ordeal. He'd told him he was wrong—childish, even—for grieving.

" _No_ ," he groaned in frustration, "it's not. Not.. anymore. It feels like the world has moved on without me, some stupid kid who can't deal with loss." It was aggravating, being left behind while everything else went on and he simply wished time would stop and give him a moment to recollect himself.

"You're not some stupid kid, you're my cute heterosexual life partner. You shouldn't sell yourself short." His voice broke into a breathless laugh.

"But I feel like—  _hey_ ," it was a whine of protest, Bill's word choice obviously intentional. Dipper made an unhappy noise and huffed, "You're a fucking asshole." This wasn't the time to make height jokes, when he was trying to work through immensely negative emotions spurred by an equally horrible experience.

"Love ya, cutie." He nuzzled him, the affectionate display causing his annoyance to ebb away.

Because to that, Dipper wasn't sure what to say but wished Bill hadn't chosen  _now_ , of all times, to complicate matters since he was already dealing with enough stress. He'd written it off previously since those infamous 'love ya's never made a reappearance after the second time, but it was back, and he was feeling conflicted. "Um, I…" Dipper trailed off, uncertain. "You too?"

Bill let out a low hum, smiling at him. "Are you still feeling like a stupid kid?"

"Yeah, always," he mumbled. "But the feeling is sometimes more bearable than other times."

"Well, I'm going to give you some age-old advice: stop."

Sarcastically, he snapped, "That's worked so well for me over the past month and a half that it's almost like I'm not having a mental breakdown in the backseat of your car in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, San Andreas."

Bill nudged him lightly and received a  _hrmmph_  of discontent. "That's probably because you never actually stopped, doll. You've spent half this conversation on how you feel like a stupid kid, but you're not. You're more intelligent than you think."

Burying his face back into Bill's shoulder, he murmured, "Someone the slightest bit intelligent wouldn't have frozen back there, they would've been fine on this job, but I couldn't even do  _that_." It was terrifying, the prospect that their deaths would continue to follow him around for the rest of his life and affect him each step of the journey.

"Intelligence and composure aren't the same thing, cutie."

"Kind of need both to be a part of the Owls, though. I don't think…" he sighed, drawing a mindless pattern on the fabric of Bill's vest, feeling his suspenders underneath. "I don't think I'd be good at this, like as a permanent arrangement."

A dismissive noise tumbled from Bill. "You've been on what, two heists? You're still new at this, and it'd be unreasonable to expect a heroic from you. So you weren't ready to fucking murder a guard, big whoop. No one holds that against you, they're just worried about you."

"It wasn't anything heroic," he pointed out sadly. "It's like… if an accountant wanted a job but couldn't do math and didn't want to learn." Killing was the equivalent of breathing in a gang that took on dangerous missions. "I know how this works, Bill, and you can't be there all the time. I'd be useful to the Owls only in navigation, and that's nothing when someone else could do it just as easily, while not being a liability to the rest of the crew."

"Killing someone is  _nothing_  like doing some bullshit math," Bill reminded, but Dipper thought that was worthless, coming from him. "Give it another shot, okay? Not all our missions will end in you having a guard up your ass."

Confused, he asked, "Won't most of them require the ability to shoot someone if I need to? There are witnesses, cops.."

"Don't worry about it, doll. We got you covered." That sounded more like a deflection than an actual, straightforward answer, leading him to believe he'd need to confront Stan or Ford if he wanted real information on what to prepare for in future heists.

Pushing that aside for now, he said, "Okay, so.. assuming I don't have to kill anyone, I still.." it felt like a lump was in his throat, and he took several seconds to ensure he wouldn't start crying before going on, "still freaked out. When I saw.. That." It'd been like an anxiety attack but surreal, somehow. The same state of disbelief and utter panic that he'd experienced when he looked down the hallway—

Shaking his head, he determined he never wanted to experience that again since it'd already left lasting damage on his mental state.

Bill blinked at him. "Cutie, you don't need to look."

"I'm not sure that'll always be an option."

"It will be," he insisted. "Don't worry your stars about that."

Recognizing another deflective answer, Dipper swallowed thickly, trying to find an easy way to break into this subject but knowing it'd be tough regardless, probably for both of them. If push came to shove, he wasn't looking forward to leaving this behind. "Look, Bill," he said softly, voice gentle. "I'll have to talk to Stan and… put more thought into it, but after today I just think it'd be best if maybe I passed on his offer."

The dissent was immediate and harsh, "No. No. No. You can do this, Pine Rose, you hear me? Don't fucking pull this shit on me."

"What?" he asked breathlessly, perplexed by the intensity of his response. "What do you mean?"

"The 'I'm leaving you' bullshit."

Scrambling for a better way to explain this, to calm Bill, Dipper awkwardly said, "I'm not.. leaving you, specifically. I'm  _thinking_ about, maybe, not joining the crew because—" it resurfaced horrible, painful memories, and required firearm skills along with a desensitized outlook that he didn't share, "it doesn't seem like it'd be good for me."

Bill lamented, "Joining is the only for sure way you'll stay. You can't do this shit."

"I'm seriously scared for my health if this doesn't get better." It hadn't so far, and perhaps he was impatient, but he wasn't confident that he'd be alright if he submerged himself in a culture where killing was normalized, expected. "Stan and Ford might not want me now anyway."

"Can't you, I don't know, look into a new medication?"

It wasn't as if he was against the proposition, but the permanence or success would be questionable. "I guess, but that's a bandaid solution." For what he was experiencing, that was. It would temporarily alleviate the problem at best, and he'd foreseeably be reliant on medication forever. He murmured, "I know you don't want me to go, but it's… not like you couldn't come with, or we could just keep in contact some other way."

Bill shifted beneath him, looking uneasy. "Why leave in the first place? It'd be easier to stay with us. Where would you even go?"

"Back to college? Back to a  _normal life_? Back to someplace I actually belong in?" Dipper threw out some ideas, then exhaled his frustration away, defeatedly collapsing onto Bill's chest. "I'd have to leave if I don't join— you said it yourself, Stan probably wouldn't let me stay."

"Let's get married," was Bill's sudden response. "He'll have to let you stay then."

"Seriously?" he inhaled, not with alarm but with… a distant sadness, a slight pinch of distress. "This again?" It was familiar, Bill trying to use marriage—a legal binding—as a last ditch resort to solve their problems. Or rather, his fear of being alone, if that's what this was. In hopes of alleviating that specific concern, he said, "You'll still have Stan and Ford if I leave, and the others." Although he didn't think it was necessary to clarify, Bill wouldn't even be losing him if he didn't join, they could still be in contact.

Bill's gaze was on him. "I don't, Pine Tree. You think I do but once you're gone it'll just be me. Me, and me, and just… me, with the silence of my room." Funny how a narcissist like Bill didn't yearn for that arrangement, he noted.

"How would marriage fix that? Sure, I'd be with you, but what happens when we meet someone we have romantic feelings for, and want to get into a relationship or be married to them for the right reasons?"

"So you  _are_  planning on leaving me." It was flung at him like a betrayed accusation. "I thought we were  _exclusive heterosexual life partners_."

"I didn't say I was leaving you!" And really, Dipper just wanted to talk to Stan about everything, to gauge his response and create a new plan of action based on that. "I mean, I know we're heterosexual life partners, but heterosexual life partners don't get  _married_  to one another unless they're in love."

Bill scoffed. "Not everyone marries out of love, and besides– how can we be  _exclusive_  like you wanted if you're thinking about marrying someone else?"

While it was true marriages didn't rely on love all the time, Dipper saw it as a legal institution of a romantic relationship, not a separate establishment so Bill wouldn't have to be alone. Addressing the latter concern, he said, "I thought a real relationship would be grounds for breaking off our friends with benefits agreement?"

"You just said you weren't leaving me! Why say that if you're just going to follow it with 'if I get married, see ya.'"

Confusion diminishing, Dipper finally pieced together what Bill was conveying. "Wait, you mean— like,  _forever_? Bill, I— I thought this was just a convenient friends with benefits fling, not.. for life. That IS a marriage." With the exception of being recognized by the government, Bill's idea of their partnership was significantly more long-term than what he'd had in mind. "I thought you had enough one night stands to know how this works. It's like that, but.. slightly more drawn out and with friendship involved."

What softness Bill had in his eyes earlier had faded, now somewhere between panic and anger. " _Convenient_? You spent this entire time– these weeks, repeatedly stating you weren't going to leave and you  _lied_. I can't fucking believe you."

"I said I needed time to think about it and wasn't sure what I'd do," he reminded him, Bill's panic rubbing off. He went on, voice noticeably strained with emotion, "I didn't know you'd take that as a definitive 'I'm staying' but that's not what I meant and I never actually said that I would be, and—"

"You told me you weren't going anywhere," he reminded him. "You fucking  _said that_  and now you're going back on your word. I should've known better than to trust you."

Recoiling and about to protest that he'd never said anything of the sort, Dipper realized he had. "You're bringing up the night at the pier?" he asked shakily. "That was over a month ago, and our relationship has changed so much since then. You can't truly be holding  _that_ over me." The look in his eyes suggested he most definitely was going to. "Fine. If you want to go down that road, you said some stuff too— like being the perfect couple? Made for each other?" Each one felt like a dagger slicing through him, twisting. "You proposed to me, after knowing each other for two weeks!"

Bill was moving beneath him, and he was slowly sliding off as he sat up, but Dipper struggled to remain close which was hard when it seemed he was adamant on moving away. "I was  _romantic_  at least. All you've done is list reasons we  _should_  get married, but you're too damn focused on 'love' bullshit."

"I'm so.. confused by you," he confessed, exausted. Dipper didn't know how they'd gotten to this point, but it'd certainly distracted him from his previous worries at least temporarily. "Wouldn't you rather have genuine love over just… a friendship that we slapped 'heterosexual life partners' onto, then added some kissing and sexual stuff?"

"No."

"You  _just_ said 'love ya' to me, like fifteen minutes ago."

"Fuck off, Pine Tree." And then Bill was moving further away, exiting the vehicle.

"Bill, wait!" Dipper didn't know where he was going but when it seemed he wasn't getting in the driver's seat, he immediately moved to follow after him. Bill was walking across the road with a purpose, not even looking back, and he hurried after him. "Bill! Where are you going?" he tried again, more desperate this time. "Don't leave, dude."

It wasn't going to solve any of their problems, this method of aversion, and he didn't even know his way back completely. It would be a long, impossible walk in the dark.

When it seemed Bill was ignoring him and continuing forward, Dipper picked up his pace, focused on only one thing: catching up to Bill, and he was almost there too, calling out to him all the while.

Attention on Bill and their conversation, he didn't notice the roar of the vehicle or approach of headlights splashing him in bright yellow, illuminating his frame in the darkness— but he did hear the frantic blaring of the horn and screeching of brakes as the driver must have seen the crash waiting to happen, but averting it was futile. Dipper turned, and his eyes went wide, flooding with sheer panic. He didn't have time to move or think.

The world seemed to come crashing down upon him when he was yanked, stumbling off balance to a side and into the security of something warm. "Do you need glasses?"

Legs trembling wildly, his big eyes would've given the moon a run for its money as they drifted upward, though it felt like everything was still moving too slowly to be real, and he gradually came to comprehend the gravity of the situation. The vehicle had passed them, but he didn't care, too busy being entranced by Bill's gaze as he noted the flecks of concern and frustration in them. 

All he could do was stare at the man that'd come to his rescue for the second time in one day, this instance stemming from his own carelessness and desperation. It was the same man that repeatedly demonstrated an indifferent attitude toward even the closest of his cohorts, but had somehow come to care for him so much that he'd save him in the midst of a serious argument.

"Is that a yes?"

Shock still had a hold on Dipper as he leaned into the embrace, chest pressed against Bill's. "Need you," he murmured, nearly too quietly to be audible. He knew there were complications and complexities to consider, ones he'd have to face shortly, but in that moment he didn't want to think about them. Disbelief had taken over, rendering him unable to understand how he'd been almost convinced by fear to leave Bill and the rest of the Owls, when it was hard to imagine a life without them.

His old life was gone and there was no getting it back, but that didn't mean he had to start anew again if he had people who cared about him.

Bill's eyes flicked across Dipper's body, and he slowly wrapped his arms around him to bring him closer. His lips drew close to his, inching to capture Dipper's in a kiss. Meeting him halfway, their lips collided, and a flurry of excitement burst at the seams somewhere deep Dipper, adrenaline making him feel dizzy but he couldn't bring himself to stop. His grip tightened on Bill's shirt, keeping him close, ensuring he wouldn't walk away again. The previous issues hadn't disappeared; however, he wanted to be fully immersed in this moment alone, drowning himself in Bill's kiss and his touch and only Bill.

For just a brief moment, Bill broke the kiss. "What does this mean…?" he murmured in confusion, before he reclaimed Dipper's mouth hungrily.

Pulling away just enough to be able to speak, Dipper huffed softly, "You tell me. You kissed me first." It meant he couldn't get enough of Bill, that he didn't know, didn't like thinking about their dispute, simply wanted to enjoy one another like this. Without giving him an opportunity to respond, he lurched forward to shove their lips together forcefully, the contact passionate and fiery and made his nerves stir to life. "Means I— I can't be without you," he breathed once they parted, still leaning heavily into Bill.

Bill sighed, closing his eyes as he rested his chin on Dipper's head. "Still can't believe you."

"Hm?"

"You're fucking confusing."

While that was ironic coming from Bill, he could appreciate the point and acknowledged it with a slightly regretful, "Look, I usually don't know what I want." He analyzed and overthought  _everything_ , a slippery slope habit that he couldn't break free of when it was embedded within him, had been his entire life. "I'm indecisive— like I said earlier, some stupid kid, but I know I don't want to be without you."

Bill narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you sure about that?"

A small puff of joyless laughter escaped him, and he pointed out, "I almost killed myself trying to get to you." Almost was inadequate, more appropriately: would've been dead if not for Bill.

"Yeah, but like– what if you decide you don't want the scone a minute from now?"

Dipper didn't know the answer, not when there were so many unresolved tensions between them and things they had yet to address constructively. Trying to buy himself time to respond, he asked, "Since when do you value commitment over getting quick physical affection?"

"Since when did you decide you wanted to run off and marry someone else?"

"Always, I guess? I didn't realize exclusive friends with benefits was the equivalent of a long-term relationship." Dipper explained, "I mean, think about it. Friends with benefits is a temporary thing for mutual gratification, and exclusiveness applies only to that timeframe."

Bill glanced away from him. "Friends with benefits aren't always short-termed, Pine Tree."

"I just thought I would find someone to be in a committed, romantic relationship with," which would negate being friends with benefits, "and everything you've said and done sort of implies you wouldn't be a good candidate for that."

"Guess we're done." Bill turned away from him, heading further off the road and into the stretching field of dry grass.

Realizing what he'd basically told him, how unintentionally insulting that was, Dipper felt a bolt of shame and panic. "Wait, that came out wrong!" he insisted, rushing after him. "I didn't mean it like that! Bill!"

Bill kept his pace, giving Dipper no choice but to try to maintain his own. "Everything you've said tonight has basically been 'fuck you Bill, I deserve someone  _better_.' I don't fucking know why you keep running after me if that's all you're going to do." His voice was bitter.

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say," he said, borderline pleading as he fought to stay in line with Bill's longer strides. "I really suck at this stuff." He was awkward and bad with words and it didn't help that his mind raced a mile a minute, meanwhile Dipper struggled to figure out something suitable to say when he was mostly distracted by Bill's fast walking to who-knew-where.

"You say that's not what you meant," he muttered darkly, pace slowing, "but it's what you said. Almost word for word. I'm not  _good enough for you_."

"Why are you upset over this?" Dipper questioned in exasperation. "You don't  _want_ to be in a romantic relationship with me! You said you don't even want to be in love. ...If it's because you think I might be leaving, I don't want to stop being heterosexual life partners with our messed up, exclusive friends with benefits."

Bill abruptly stopped, and Dipper smacked into him but mentally thanked every god that he could think of that he no longer had to deal with physical strain atop the mental and emotional. "You made this… this fucking scene about how awful I was, how you could find someone you actually gave two shits about, then proceeded to argue with me about how you were going to leave me." Dipper took several steps back, trying to give him space. "It's… exhausting, and difficult to believe you actually mean it when you say you want to continue being exclusive friends with benefits."

"Bill," Dipper sounded wounded, "I care  _so goddamn_ much about you that it hurts." And it'd nearly killed him minutes ago with the car speeding toward his oblivious,  _stupid_  self, but he was referring to how Bill meant too much to him, how his emotional state hung in the balance with him dictating which way it tipped. "You're not awful. It's just, I said those things because I.. I'm like a lot of people, thinking I'll find the one— the person I want to be with, romantically, and that'll be it, but I know you're uninterested in that." In  _him_ , not that he was surprised. It was Bill, and he was awkward Dipper. Things really hadn't changed since their first meeting five years ago.

Bill wasn't looking at him, eyes on the sky and the distant stars. "I don't know why you'd bother being involved with me if you wanted something  _romantically serious_. I told you I didn't want to be alone."

"I'm.. I wasn't looking for anything serious. I'm still not really  _looking_ ," Dipper sputtered, caught off guard by the statement but nonetheless trying to be honest. "I like being physical with you, and I think you like it too, so," he kicked a foot mindlessly, "being friends with benefits was an appropriate progression for us."

"But you were ready to throw that aside like a wet paper towel. Then you were… like, picking it up again. I don't get it."

"I didn't say I wanted to end this. I was concerned about what would happen with the crew, whether or not I'd be joining after… today." Just like that, the wave of stifling stress had revived itself, leaving his mind reeling with worries as well as grief.

Bill dug his feet into the ground. "What happens if you find  _someone else_? You'll just fucking leave me."

Dipper challenged it, "What if  _you_  find someone else?"

"I don't love and I made an agreement with you to be exclusive. It won't happen."

As Bill had mentioned earlier, it was very reminiscent of the night on the pier, but it struck a resemblance with him for different reasons. It was the night he'd found out how deeply his fear of being alone ran, and how far he'd go to avoid total isolation.

Tired and endlessly stumped by his logic, Dipper clarified, "You don't love, and yet you've repeatedly told me we should be dating or married. How does that even work? Are you just—?" Lonely was the continuation, but he bit his tongue. If that was the underlying motivator, he didn't know why Bill's interest was specific to him.

Bill glanced at him, and in the light of the moon he could see how his gold-blue eyes twinkled sadly. "I keep telling you, Pine Tree. Love and being in a relationship aren't exclusive. You just keep… being obsessed with that concept."

Alarmed, Dipper didn't want to think about that and its implications, so he quickly veered away with: "Are you aromantic? Ford has a theory that you are." It'd been something exchanged in passing, since it wasn't as if he'd been seeking that information, per se, but Ford cited witnessing a lack of previous romantic relationships.

"No?" Bill seemed confused. "No. Stars, no. Don't listen to Fordsy, he's an idiot. I'm a grand romantic."

Dipper let out a laugh at the absurdity, but was more puzzled than anything by the conflicting information. "I wouldn't have guessed. Ford said you've never been.. with someone like that, and you said you didn't love."

He softly laughed. "Like I said, Fordsy's stupid. I don't have to be aromantic to not have a romantic relationship with someone or to not love. Besides, Fordsy doesn't  _know_  my history."

"You  _have_  a love life history?" he asked, deadpanning but mildly surprised. "You never mentioned anything."

"I'd rather not discuss it."

"Oh, okay." Although disappointed and now curious, it was best not to push, and he didn't think it mattered anymore. "Y'know… earlier, I honestly didn't mean I wanted to stop being with you. I'm not going to find anyone else, there's nobody 'better.'" No one he wanted more. He stepped closer, placing his chin on Bill's shoulder to affectionately murmur, "You realize that, right?"

Beneath him, Bill shifted, and Dipper could feel his arms wrap around him. "Right, right. I just… disliked the implication, Pine Rose."

"Um, the implication?" he asked, tentative and nervous, mind abuzz as he was left wondering if Bill knew—

"... With you leaving?"

"Oh." That was still a source of anxiety, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do after the incident at the museum, plus what followed hadn't been pleasant. "I guess we should talk about that, huh?"

Bill kissed his cheek. "Probably, sugar."

"Do you actually think I won't need to shoot anybody, or see anybody.. like that?" he asked, feeling vulnerable somehow and knowing he'd still have to verify with Stan, but... it was a relief, a temporary one. "You'll protect me?" The events of the day had been indicative of his ability to do so, if nothing else.

A chuckle escaped Bill. "Sweetheart, soon we'll be the Los Santos power couple, partners in crime, and  _no one_  will fuck with either of us. You won't need to touch a gun, and if someone was idiotic enough to attempt to go after you, I'll ensure they end up six feet under before they have the chance to even  _look_  at you." It was enough to give him confidence that Bill had been right, believing  _maybe_ he could do this, as it had only been one heist when the others went relatively alright.

"Thanks. You, uh.. you're incredible." With a sad and choked laugh, Dipper nuzzled into his neck. "I guess if you're sure, though. I don't want to bring the crew down."

"You won't, darling. Hey, let's lay down and look at the stars. They're lovely out here." Dipper hadn't even noticed but as Bill took a seat in the grass, he did the same, snuggling closer as an arm drew him in.

"What about.. the grieving?" As in, him grieving over his parents. "I know you'll tell me to stop, but I just can't." It wasn't possible, and he didn't have that sort of control over his thoughts.

Bill looked at him. "I didn't tell you to stop earlier. I just wanted you to feel less down on yourself– talking about how stupid you were, that bullshit."

"It's hard to control that too." Tonight's thoughts had been berating nonstop. "Especially after the heist. I— I'm so fucked up." There was a slight catch in his words, the honesty rattling him. "I can't stop seeing them, and— what if future heists make it worse? What if I try to kill myself again?" it was a worried ramble, the snowball effect in action.

"Like I said earlier, you should rethink trying the medication. Even if it's a 'bandaid' as you said, it's a stepping stone to getting further help."

Dipper sighed, "I, uh, yeah. You're right. Maybe something that'll make me less of a zombie this time."

"I think I know something that'll work. We can try it, see how it goes. If it doesn't work, there're more options we can attempt."

"Okay."

Quiet engulfed them, filling the minimal space between their bodies and reaching all the way to the clear heavens above where an endless dark blue sky was dotted by the most brilliant arrangement of stars. They were bright, fascinating, absolutely breathtaking when they weren't covered by the pollution of the city. Dipper didn't know nearly as much as Bill did about them but found the scene stunning regardless, and it helped alleviate the previous thoughts of grief.

With Bill holding him close and gently rubbing his back, he'd relaxed and let his worries dissolve bit by bit for now. Fretting was a true temptation for the overthinking mind, but he'd managed to shelf his concerns with the logic that he just wanted to enjoy this for what it was, and they could deal with the rest later.

Dipper rested with his head on Bill's chest, unsure of how long they'd simply… existed together wordlessly, but their affection for one another didn't require verbalization. Although he wasn't sure when exactly, his hand had found Bill's and laced their fingers while he'd dreamily admired the semi-matching gold rings they both wore. It didn't matter that they were laying in a huge field of San Andreas' signature dried grass, it was their cozy pocket of the universe.

Playfully nudging Bill, he inquired in reference to the stars that Bill seemed to adore beyond reason, "So how do I compare? Are they more beautiful than me?"

"Oh, sugar. Nothing could be more gorgeous than you."

Bill's reply had him blushing at the sincerity, a gentle warmth resting on his cheekbones, a contrast to the cooler night air. "You must really love me or want to get laid," he commented, rolling over to peer at him.

He was met by a peck on his lips. "Yes." And how Bill was staring at him made his heart skip a beat, the pure honesty in it, no trace of deceit or an ulterior motive in the depths of his gaze. Those eyes had Dipper helplessly captivated, marveling at the spot of blue among an ocean of gold.

It made him wonder if Bill had ever looked at him and been similarly drawn in, then brushed the absurd thought away. He was nothing special, yet Bill somehow saw something worth keeping in him, to the point in which he'd acted out in frustration and hurt when under the impression he'd been considering leaving. And Dipper still would've been entertaining thoughts of the sort, but he knew it was for naught when he just... couldn't.

He couldn't leave Bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in reading more of this fic, this chapter has an extension that can be read [here](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/177425376452/c23-extended-scene-nsfw). Doesn't include any plot advancement, just pure fluff and smut.
> 
> Thanks to those who have stuck with us this far, given kudos, and/or commented. On the subject of comments: we always love hearing from you all, whether that's about the fic (favorite part(s), what you'd like more of?) or basically anything - related to RRH or not.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): suicidal thoughts, major internalized homophobia, slurs, a hefty amount of coarse language (thank Bill for that one.)

This was the life.

Dipper was cocooned in his arms, happily nuzzled into his neck as they laid on the sofa with their legs slotted together, enjoying each other's presence during an almost-peaceful night in the penthouse. The TV was blaring in front of him, Stan and Mabel interacting loudly with the soap opera playing, but he hardly noticed with such a cute kid cuddled in his embrace.

"Mm," Dipper murmured against the column of his throat, lips grazing lazily over his skin and leaving kisses in his path. "You're wonderful."A laugh later, he went on, "Pretty handsome, too."

Bill knew he was the fucking best. Handsome, amazing,  _hung_. He was such a nice guy to Dipper too, so good to him, and if he kept this up, Dipper was bound to give him access to that virgin hole of his. "You're stunning," he responded as he kissed the top of his head. "Cute." And delicate, another reason why Bill had been protectively close to him. Robbie's threats weren't a high priority concern since he'd probably forgotten about it by now, but they were there too.

Dipper snuggled in and after a moment, confessed, "This is.. really nice. Being like this with you." Truthfully, it was a rather sublime evening, stars and a bright moon draping over the restless city.

A sudden outburst from the other side of the sectional caused his sweet heterosexual life partner to scrunch up in surprise, casting a weary glance over his shoulder. "Geez, they're kind of..." he started with a frown, voice lowered, "I don't know— enthusiastic?" Bill had to agree, if by 'enthusiastic' Dipper meant 'annoying as fuck.'

"Can you two shut the hell up for a damn second?" he snapped at Stan and Mabel, but neither seemed to care, their gazes transfixed to the flat screen television. Stan's grubby hands were clenched around a crinkling bag of toffee peanuts as he shoveled them into his mouth, a disgusting scene Bill didn't want to watch. "You're disrupting the peace." The peace of his cuddly bonding time with Dipper, to be exact.

"Hey, relax," Dipper said, affectionately bumping their noses together before settling back in and curling his body against him. "It's fine, seriously. It startled me was all, and we could always go to your bedroom if you didn't want to share the living room." Bill almost scowled. It wasn't  _fine_ , they were obnoxious and it startled  _his_  Pine Tree. Dipper didn't even have to look at him to say, "Stop that," a flick on the cheek, "I know you're brooding."

He huffed. "I'm not." Yes he was. No he wasn't. Regardless, it seemed Dipper didn't believe him, as per his eyebrow raise. "Fuck you. I am." He wasn't bitter, he wasn't annoyed. He was being good. Fuck it.

"Now you're just being a huge jerk," he commented with the faintest of smiles, leaning in and kissing him, but parting after a second. Feeling discontented by the intoxicating sample, Bill wanted more of those lips. Dipper rubbed his upper arm as he said with an inflection of innuendo, "Looks like they're distracted with their show…"

"Does that mean you'll strip and get naked for me?" Bill inquired. He'd enjoy that, first wanting to savour him with his eyes, then treat himself by touching.

"Uh," he nervously laughed, "I'm thinking no, at least not in front of Stan and Mabel. What I meant was we could do more of this," he demonstrated with another kiss, this one longer, slightly needier as he let it linger but moved to whisper against his lips. "And they wouldn't notice. Come on,  _grand romantic_ ," he teased softly, "show me what you can do."

"Shut it and let me kiss you, Pine Rose." Bill could get on board with this, and he stole Dipper's lips in a new kiss, eliminating the distance between their bodies and using his hands to sensually stroke along Dipper's sides, then his thighs.

Dipper shuffled his hands from between them to grasp Bill's shoulder and cup the back of his neck, eagerly pulling him closer, encouraging him to continue. A noise was muted by the kiss, further subdued with an abrupt cutoff like he knew he couldn't be loud and attract attention to them right now.

But Bill wanted him to be loud, and he nipped his tongue, pulling back on it gently. Dipper's little yelp-turned-moan had his head spinning with pride, the response more than he could've hoped for. Stars, he'd never get sick of how sensitive the kid was.

Breaking from the kiss, both breathed heavily for a moment, eyes locked. Dipper was the first to avert them and end the silence with a shy request, "Do you.. uh— um, think you could…" although he continued, the words were too quiet for Bill to understand what he was asking. At this proximity, managing to say something inaudibly was quite an achievement.

"Sweetheart, you'll need to speak up. I can't pleasure you if I can't hear what you want." Whatever it was, he would probably do it.

It was a tentative, near-squeak as he asked, "Maybe you could... mark me? If you want to, I mean."

He didn't hesitate, catching the skin of Dipper's neck between his teeth and sucking on it. When he pulled back, a red blemish remained in his place. "I'll mark you as  _mine_."

"O-oh my god, Bill," Dipper inhaled, looking flushed from either the action or words or both. "I'm yours," he agreed, and as an afterthought added, "sir." And the salacious look he was giving him— cosmos and constellations, he was familiar with that look and it  _screamed_  'fuck me, Bill.'

Nearly drooling at the sight, Bill let out a small noise. Oh, he liked that, he liked that  _a lot_. "You _are_ mine, honeysuckle." The term of endearment elicited an approving sound from Dipper, but it melted into a shuddering gasp as he moved to mark several places on his neck, forming blotches on his pale skin.

He couldn't deny how tempting it was to take things further, to make Dipper shudder in  _other_  ways, and as he licked and sucked he began to grind against him, hoping to spur a juicer reaction from Dipper.

Bill stopped to gauge his reaction, met with the sight of a beautifully blushing Dipper. " _Here_?" he asked with incredulousness in a hushed tone, appearing astonished by the bold suggestion. "Are you sure?" Even if he hadn't been, it seemed Dipper's mind was made up with the pooling of lust in his dark eyes.

"You wanna cum, cutie?" Bill asked, continuing his grinding movements. "I'll make you ruin those pajama pants of yours." At that, his eyes somehow got wider with erotic fascination, and he sharply inhaled, hips betraying any sense of hesitance by twitching against his own. It seemed his dearest wanted this bad, and Bill was happy to oblige. He didn't give two shits if Stan or Mabel saw– he wanted to see  _his_  Pine Tree squirm.

Drifting his hands to Dipper's waist, Bill gave a playful squeeze and resumed grinding, hips surging in a rather powerful thrust against Dipper as he snapped his teeth down on the spot between his neck and collarbone. Dipper let out a choked moan, grip tightening on his shoulder. Desire flooded Bill upon feeling bony legs scrape for purchase at his sides until locating a suitable spot, winding around him and urging him on, pulling him  _closer_.

There was a crunch of the toffee peanut bag, and Bill glanced over in time to see Stan's head whirling to look at them. "Knock it off, ya horny savages! Mabel, help me get the hose from the hallway!" Making a startled noise, Dipper seemed to instinctively duck further under him, as if that would help hide him from Stan's disapproval.

"Aw, but I wanna watch!" Mabel's voice was a whine, much to Bill's amusement. He didn't really want to get hosed down on the couch again, though. It was why they had to get a new one, as Stan didn't share his view that some cum stains never hurt anything.

"Take a hike, Stan." More than happy to demonstrate his noncompliance, Bill was once again grinding into Dipper. "All your hose will do is ruin a perfectly good couch  _again_. Let Pine Rose and I have some fun, will you? It's not hurting anyone and if you have a problem with it, there's a TV in your room."

Stan looked like he wanted to murder him. "Don't push it, Bill."

A tap on his shoulder grabbed his attention, and Bill looked to see Dipper's eyes were trained to his, glowing with mischief. It sent the smallest of thrills through him, ramping up when he said with obvious risqué, "We can move. I was thinking of taking a shower anyway."

Allowing Dipper to squirm out from under him, Bill was interested in that not-so-subtle proposition and began to follow. "That'll be fun. We'll break in the shower."

Bill paused as Stan sternly said, "No. You're not showering together, Bill. Stay away from him." Hm, he'd think about that. Nah. He was joining Dipper and continued to leave for his bedroom, irritation heightened when he heard Stan shuffling off the couch with another mutter about 'the hose.' The dreaded hose.

"Fine," he growled to Stan, plopping himself back down on the sectional to avoid a liquid punishment. He'd already received enough of that from Pine Tree. Regarding Dipper, who was waiting near his bedroom door, he softly added, "We should continue later, sweetheart."

Although he looked slightly disappointed, Dipper nodded and agreed with a simple, "Alright, I'll be back in a bit."

They were left in silence as Stan and Mabel's attention returned to their soap opera. It was boring, blander than Stan's cooking, and Bill longed to heat up that shower Dipper was taking. Fuck the hose. It was the only barrier between him and Dipper's naked, wet body. He wanted to admire how the little droplets of water dragged over his perfectly soft skin… then lick them off, lap at every inch. Mhm, he'd be one hell of a tasty treat.

Would Stan get the hose if he whipped his dick out and jacked off? Might be practical too, depending on what he was going to be doing with Pine Rose later—

"Ooh! Look, Bill, it's you and Dipper!" Mabel's squeal interrupted his thoughts and he peered at her questioningly, only to see her point at the television screen. On their stupid show, a man was tearily confessing his attraction to the female lead, the acting overdramatic and near nonsensical. Absolutely no classiness, shame on them.

"Two people not having sex? That's us for sure, but Stan also might qualify. The only difference is I could've gotten some if Stan hadn't been a little bitch."

Stan noticeably bristled. "Hey! I can get plenty of sex if I wanted it."

"No, silly Billy!" Mabel snorted. "Mister McMan is pouring his heart out to Lady Ladington!" What did  _that_  have to do with  _them_? As if reading his thoughts, she connected the two by excitedly clarifying, "It's like you, pouring your heart out to Dippy! Have you done that yet? If you have, spill ALL the details and don't leave out a single thing!" No.

He didn't  _have_ a heart to pour out to Dipper, didn't have anything to confess even if he did have one. "I think you've gotten our relationship entirely wrong."

"Are ya saying you're not gay as shit? 'Cause the way ya shove your tongue down his throat isn't convincing me otherwise."

"So what is your relationship?" Mabel pressed, looking much more interested in this than the dumb soap opera. "You're always together, and like, doing couple things with one another! And Dip-Dop talks about you all the time too, being super gushy and stuff, it's  _adorable_."

How did they  _not_  know? "We're heterosexual life partners," he informed her. "Not homosexual,  _heterosexual_. That means 'straight', not a crooked piece of shit." Bill's tone had grown bitter. He wasn't gay!

"Aww! You two have a title for your romance?" Mabel inferred with a bright-eyed intensity. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" Snatching her phone from the coffee table, she began to type something, thumbs drifting rapidly over the on-screen keys. "Just wait until Wendy hears about this, we were making bets on how long it'd take for you to admit your love for each other!"

No. No. No. He didn't love Dipper, didn't love anyone, couldn't. Opening the door for painful abandonment was low on his list of desires when everybody eventually left him. "We're not in love," his voice was cold. Why were they pushing this?

Stan chuckled, the apparent entertainment he dervied from this only igniting bursts of anger within Bill. "You expect us to believe Dipper's just an 'every night, forever' stand?"

"Why do you want to know?" It was none of his damn business.

"This is so cool! Come on, your relationship is even better than a television show with how you've been flirting and kissing and sneaking around with each other."

"We're not  _flirting or sneaking around_." They totally weren't. "I don't understand why you're insisting we are."

"I mean, you went on this super long car ride with him a while ago," Mabel listed, counting it off on her fingers, "you guys get coffee together basically everyday, and  _hello_ — sofa snuggling! That's the true mark of romance right there, and you even share a bed! How are you  _not_ together yet? It's like you're the perfect pair, fighting and making up all the time." Inspiration seemingly striking her, Mabel shrieked, "You guys are Ross and Rachel! Have you been on a break yet?"

Stuffing more toffee peanuts into his mouth, Stan raised his eyebrow at him to speak through his chewing, "Ya have this lovesick look whenever he's around, like you can't be without him. It's only him too, ya softie."

Mabel grinned as if she'd stumbled upon another 'astounding' revelation and said, "You  _are_  a big softie! Just a black and yellow squish!" Disgust crossing his face, Bill drew back as Mabel raised her fingers to pretend to squish him. What the fuck was this?

Bill wasn't in love with Dipper, and he definitely wasn't soft. Fuck these two, fuck them to oblivion. He was not in love with Dipper.

He wasn't in love with Dipper.

No. No, no. They were just… heterosexual… life partners. That was it. Mabel and Stan didn't know what they were talking about.

Although about to  _correct_  them on this matter once and for all, he was interrupted before he could. Rising above the noise of the shower, Dipper's voice echoed through his room and into the living space of the penthouse, "Can you come here, Bill?" the request resounded, calling out for his assistance. "I forgot to take a new bottle of body wash in with me!"

"Coming, dear!" Bill brightened with interest, frustration already dissolving. Now this, this was something he wanted to do. And see. Leaving the couch, he strode into his bedroom, then to the connecting bathroom to be met with a wave of humid heat. Bill's attention naturally drifted to the figure behind the shower curtain, unabashedly drinking up the graceful movements of the thin silhouette, memory filling in the details until he realized he'd been staring for too long. Grabbing a spare body wash from under the sink, he placed it on the rim of the shower. "Do I get a kiss for this, doll?"

"Thanks." Dipper's head popped from behind the shower curtain, his hands clutching it against himself; it was amusing, they'd already seen each other nude and he was hiding, looking so cute and shy about it too. His cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the water, dark hair sticking to his forehead as water droplets slid over his pale, smooth skin. "Just a kiss?" His eyebrows raised and a tiny, melodic laugh filled the air. "Wow, I thought you'd ask for something else— like a blowjob, and I still would've given it to you. But sure, let's kiss."

Wait, he could  _now_  demand a blowjob from Pine Tree and get it? Where was this express lane three weeks ago?

First, he was damn well going to get this promised kiss. Bill leaned forward, careful to avoid the spraying water, and pressed his mouth to Dipper's. One hand strayed from the curtain to caress his cheek, holding him there as Dipper drew out the kiss, then finally retreated.

Bill smirked, relishing in the view of his beautiful life partner before asking, "Can I get a raincheck on that blowjob?"

"Yeah. Maybe.. in a bit? Like after the others go to bed?"

Nice, that'd only be in an hour or less, whenever the soap opera binging ended. His dick was so ready, just the thought of getting it sucked was making him chubbed. "Looking forward to it, sugar."

A burst of giggles heard from the living room had them both looking in that direction, and Dipper blinked at the noise before turning back to him. "I didn't know their soap opera was supposed to be a comedy?"

"It's a shitshow attempt at romance. They'd better be laughing at it, the show sucks."

"It is really corny," he agreed, swooping in for a final kiss though this one was shorter. "I'll see you in a while, okay?"

Bill would definitely be seeing him again soon. "Can't wait." He'd make him moan against his mouth as they kissed, make him  _beg_  for more. Upon exiting the bathroom, he could distinguish the sounds of giggles rising in the living room, and when he approached they transformed into full bouts of laughter, then fell silent—minus little snickers they tried to hold back—when they caught sight of him.

"What's so funny?" Bill demanded. "You're laughing like a bunch of crushing teenage girls." There was no response, but more stifled giggling. "Answer me, for fuck's sake."

Mabel leaned over to whisper something to Stan, and another round of cackles ensued. Bill's hands clenched into fists, they'd better tell him what was going on right now.

Stan's voice boomed with laughter. "Oh, we were just playing you and Dipper. Watch, the resemblance is nuts!" His chest puffed as he took in a breath, then said, "I'm Bill, and I'm PINING over this tree and I'm not even a hippie!" Bill already didn't like where this was going, wished he had his gun because Stan couldn't mock his brilliance if he was chowing down on a bullet.

Mabel said enthusiastically, "Wait, wait, uh.. okay, I got one! 'My love for you is bigger than the distance between our heights because I'm such an itty-bitty shortie!'" That at least was true. Dipper was pretty short, and Bill liked that, often told him so.. or teased him, whatever fit the mood.

"Pine Tree," Stan went on overdramatically as he clutched his chest, holding back laughter, "I'm such a creepy, mysterious loner but we're  _perfect_  for each other." Aside from the part about being perfect for each other, this was horribly inaccurate. Bill was charming  _and_ he had plenty of friends, tons he could call up to request favors from. Stan was just jealous of how awesome he was.

Mabel continued to imitate, her voice aiming for comical, "I'm Dipper and I can't make up my mind about anything except how much I'm in  _love_ with you! I don't even need to make a million lists to be sure!" Why was Mabel being the only realistic one of the group? Stan's poor impressions were the worst.

But needless to say, Bill was not amused. "Hating this." What they said was far from the truth. They weren't in love, even if Dipper was an overthinking cutie of small stature.

Stan chuckled. "I'm the driver of this relationship and you're navigating your way into my stony heart!" Bill really, really wished he had his gun with him.

"Good one!" Mabel squealed to Stan. "My sister Mabel is the most amazing person in my life, but you're the second most amazing, Bill!" Scratch Mabel being spot on. She was almost as awful as Stanley.

"Let's elope under the stupid stars that I have a boner for, but I love you more!"

Bill finally snapped, his patience eroded completely. "Why the fuck don't you just  **stop**?" They didn't, of course they didn't. They were assholes and he wanted them to die in a corner, alone and unloved.

"We wear matching rings and we want ALL the homo! Smooch, smooch!"

"Lovin' you is Sunday moneys even though we're from TOTALLY different backgrounds! Oh, wait– nope, we're not because we're both privileged rich kids!"

Bill was walking toward the door, infuriated by this insult to his name. "Fuck you both," he snarled to them. "I hope the police raid this penthouse next and you're shot for 'resisting', asshats." Behind him, he could hear complaints that they were just joking, hadn't meant anything by it, but he didn't care and slammed the door of the penthouse as he headed downstairs to the garage. Bill wasn't in love with Dipper.

He wasn't. He wasn't squishy either. Fuck them, They didn't know what they were talking about. He wasn't in love, and he didn't deserve their shitty abuse. They didn't deserve his greatness.

Getting in his car and pulling out of the garage and driveway, Bill got onto the road and began to drive aimlessly. He didn't know where he was going, only that it'd remain quiet, away from the prying bullshit of Stan and Mabel. He wished Dipper was with him… the kid was good company, he normally had a subject to talk about. Not to mention how cute, and funny, and clever he was… Bill did not have a crush on him.

He was not in love with him. It was perfectly normal to cherish his smile, to long for his face to light up, and to find his jokes to be both witty and endearing. He was beyond adorable.

…Fuck. He might be a little in love with him. He couldn't get him out of his head, couldn't ignore the desire to pull him close and protect him. Kill anyone who even  _thought_  about hurting him. Shit. It might've been a… a sapling sized crush, but it was  _there_. He couldn't risk it growing.

What the fuck could he do? He couldn't be in love with him, he wasn't a  _gay_. He could try to suppress it, to restrain himself… but what if he slipped up? He knew he was impulsive, quick to act. Cut him out of his life? Possibly, but would Dipper obey? The kid was a stubborn motherfucker.

Conversion therapy was another possibility, although he wasn't completely sold on the method. His mind wasn't as feeble as Ford's, their poor attempts at psychology likely wouldn't help him.

He didn't need it, he decided. Bill wasn't gay. He was as straight as a board, and he couldn't allow that to be tainted by his own sinful emotions. He had to smite it at its source– himself. And he knew just how to do it.

Raton Canyon would be perfect for what he had planned. There was a dirt road just off the bridge he could use to veer his car into the rocks far below, swirling with murky waters. It'd be difficult to retrieve the wreck from the waterfall and the rapids, and he hoped it'd take a few pigs or their specialized team out in the process.

U-turning, he slammed on the gas and soared in the direction of the bridge. Los Santos was quickly passing him by, the city transforming into hills filled with trees, and finally the bridge. He swerved onto the dirt path that led closer to the water and pushed on the brake, gazing at the glittering darkness.

The moon almost made it beautiful, but he thought it'd look better when his mangled remains joined it. Staring directly ahead out the windshield with a guardedness about him, Bill maintained his focus, unwilling to let his mind wander in fear it would talk him down from this. Mentally, he strived to be numb to make the process easier. No fear, no regret, no thinking about the impact.

Smoking on the hood of his vehicle helped immensely, soothed him enough to be completely sure this was the right thing to do. Although he hadn't had a chance to drive to the burial site of his beloved dogs and give a final goodbye, he supposed they would be understanding of his decision.

Returning inside the vehicle, the obnoxious vibration of his phone sabotaged his attempts at disconnecting from the world around him because as tempting as it was to ignore, he couldn't when he glanced down to see Dipper's contact name on the screen.

 **(12:58 AM)**   _Where are you?_

 **(12:59 AM)**   _If you're getting coffee, could you get my normal one?_

 **(1:02 AM)**  sorry cutie

 **(1:02 AM)**  coffee runs are over

 **(1:02 AM)**   _Are you trying to tell me I'm getting fat?_

 **(1:04 AM)**  no

 **(1:04 AM)**  i just won't be around

 **(1:04 AM)**   _What does that even mean?_

 **(1:04 AM)**   _Where are you going?_

 **(1:05 AM)** stop

 **(1:05 AM)**   _No, tell me what's going on_

 **(1:06 AM)**  you won't miss me anymore

 **(1:06 AM)**  i'm not coming back

 **(1:06 AM)**  i'm going to where i belong

 **(1:06 AM)**   _You're being super cryptic and it's frustrating_

 **(1:07 AM)**   _Just be straight with me_

How could he be straight if he was tainted by homosexual emotions? No, this was the only way he could purge the filth that plagued his mind.

 **(1:07 AM)** goodbye

 **(1:08 AM)**   _BILL_

 **(1:08 AM)**   _Are you okay?_

 **(1:10 AM)**   _Seriously I'm going to get Stan_

No, he was not okay. He wouldn't be okay until he was dead. Having feelings for Dipper… he couldn't live knowing he was becoming a gay, one of  _them_. He couldn't be gay, he liked pussies. And Dipper. Mostly Dipper. If Dipper was a pussy, did that make him gay? He knew he called Dipper a female all the time, but… shit. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He had been tricking himself, twisting his thoughts to believe his emotions weren't wrong, that they were justified by how feminine Dipper was. As ladylike as he was, he was still male and identified as male–  _his attraction wasn't acceptable_. Bill's grip on the steering wheel tightened, all but squeezing the life out of it.

This was bad. He was more corrupted than he'd initially thought. There was no room for salvation, not even pushing Dipper away would help when the only answer was the sweet release of death for this sinner.

Conflicted thoughts swarmed his mind as he peered to the rapids; they were calling him, the foamy water crashing over the rocks and shooting down into the white pools below. The jagged structures would eliminate all chances of survival, precisely what he needed.

What would Pine Tree think, after his thwarted suicide attempts and Bill's reassurances? He'd probably try to kill himself too, with how hopeless he'd be without Bill's guidance. That'd probably be his personal hell– the Devil forcing him to watch Dipper kill himself on repeat after Bill was gone.

Oh well, if he had to face eternal damnation for his sins of being gay, that was the price he had to pay. He had determined the world would be better off without another gay in the world after this one had broken the Christian ideals he'd been raised with– he had acted on his feelings for another male. Stars couldn't save him now.

It wouldn't be a loss. Stan and Ford would continue the Owls of Anarchy without him, and he couldn't imagine they'd be terribly devastated or dwell on his death. Tragedy and untimely deaths were the bread and butter of crime gangs in Los Santos, a staple of the business, though usually it was at the hands of a cop.

But Dipper, that was the one he was worried about as much as he didn't want to be. Maybe this would break him, maybe he'd never be alright again, or maybe he'd move on with his life the way he wanted to from the start. Maybe he was holding him back from the future he yearned to have.

It sent him spiraling into a rabbit hole of 'what-if's concerning his suicide and how it would affect Dipper, if it would.

Bill only abandoned his thoughts when headlights from behind flashed in his mirrors, but the vehicle didn't pass him by as he expected it to. During its approach, it slowed and eventually came to a stop, and he realized with an audible groan that it was one of Stan's personal vehicles. How did he—

Bill's narrowed eyes snapped to his phone. Betrayal. That's what had happened. If he had to guess, it'd gone down something like this: a crying and pathetic Dipper had panicked to Stan, Stan contacted Fiddleford McGucket, and that nerdy hippie from Mississippi traced him. Instant regret, he should've slammed his foot onto the gas pedal before they had the opportunity.

Watching from his mirror, he saw Dipper—of course it would be Pine Tree, the world itched to screw him over—emerge from the passenger seat, exchange a few indecipherable words with Stan, then leave to walk toward his vehicle as Stan drove off again. Bill's hands tightened on the steering wheel once more, his breath caught, wondering what Dipper would say to him. Nothing that would convince him to change his mind, that was for sure.

As Dipper climbed into the passenger seat, all Bill could think about was how he should've locked the door, shouldn't be having these thoughts, and his heart was a traitorous bastard— beating faster in Dipper's presence.

It wasn't like he was  _amazing_ to look at, or anything. Hair a fluffy mess from showering, his clothes were ruffled like he threw them on in a haste, and they weren't that attractive, just one of his stupid plaid shirts and skinny jeans. Maybe they weren't particularly attractive, but they did fit him well, accented his lithe frame in a way that enhanced the delicateness of his features but didn't make him appear scrawny either.

Bill could've smacked himself as he was realizing what he was doing. How was this kid capable of intruding upon his thoughts so easily?

Fidgeting, Dipper crossed and uncrossed his legs, scratched his neck, then eventually seemed to work up the courage to look at him and start with an awkward, "So are you going to explain what those texts meant and what you're doing out here or…?"

"You shouldn't be here." Bill's voice sounded distant, even to himself. He didn't want Dipper or anyone to save him, to try to convince him the stars would forgive him. He wanted to be alone.

"Yeah, I should be," Dipper replied, sounding slightly concerned. "Here's with you."

No, it wasn't. Here was his death, and Dipper was merely a delay. "Leave."

"Yeah, no." It was probably meant to be forceful but came out like a whine, but Dipper's resolve was unwavering as he stubbornly folded his arms, a cute pout—

Fuck, he was doing it again. Not  _cute_. An  _ugly_ , annoying pout on his face. That was better.

"Not until you at least tell me what you're doing," Dipper went on. "It's… you're acting weird, dude. You knew you'd be getting a blowjob later and left? That's not normal for you."

"I said get out," Bill repeated himself. "I don't have to explain anything to you, so fuck off." Burn that bridge while he could, maybe if Dipper hated him it'd make everything easier.

Although he flinched and appeared taken aback by that answer, the surprise faded into irritation. "I'm not going." It was stern, but he challenged sarcastically, "If you really wanted me out, you could've thrown me out by now. I mean, you didn't have any problem doing that a month ago."

Bill could throw him out. "You want to get thrown out?" he growled. "I could take this car over the cliff right fucking now, that'd eject you from that fucking seat real fast."

"Why don't you?" Dipper snapped, clearly thinking he wouldn't do it. The kid had guts, but maybe wouldn't for long depending on whether he went through with the threat. "Have fun watching your heterosexual life partner die, jackass." Bill would've already witnessed it because of the Devil. He could save Dipper's soul by murdering him, that'd be a good heterosexual life partner move. Keep Dipper away from him in the afterlife, too.

"Fine." If Dipper wanted to die, Bill would let him. He didn't have anything to lose.

"Fine." There was the tiniest twinge of uncertainty in Dipper's. Under his breath, he muttered, "My life's a fucking wreck anyway." Oh boohoo, at least he wasn't struggling with his faggy ways.

Bill's foot slammed on the gas pedal, sending them toward the edge of the cliff.

As the vehicle sprang forward, Dipper fell back against the seat from the sudden movement, then was trying to press into it like he was expecting the impact any second. His grip on the console visibly tightened, and his eyes were clamped shut, an expression of distressed resignation plastered on his features.

Near the last opportunity, Bill hit the brakes, and the car skidded to a stop, the front bumper hanging over the edge. "Why the fuck are you still in here?" he asked coldly, ignoring how Dipper gasped as he opened his eyes and saw how close they were to the edge. "All I wanted was to be alone so I could fucking die, and you're being a pest."

Even more alarmed, Dipper turned to him with a widened gaze. "Holy shit, you were trying to kill yourself?" he asked in utter disbelief, swallowing hard. "I.. I don't even know how to process that, but.. don't. Seriously." The beginnings of panic were shining through his once-confident facade, the little twitch of his fingers and the shuffling of his weight. The look in his eyes was desperate, pleading. "Okay, when I first came here— you uh, you wouldn't let me jump until I talked about it. I think it's only fair that the same applies right now."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did he have to look so fucking adorable.. ugly? "No." Why did this cute asshole have to ruin everything? His plan would've gone flawlessly if he hadn't called in the calvary then invited himself into his car, bossing him around like they were on a heist.

With a sad huff and a hand combing through his hair, Dipper pressed, "Bill, come on. Whatever it is, it's not worth dying over. I really,  _really_ don't want you to die, and I'll do anything it'll take to make you feel the same about yourself. You're like, y'know… the only one I've gotten close to while I've been with the Owls, and I'm here for you."

Bill didn't want help, he didn't want Dipper's affection or his companionship. He was a disgrace, a faggot, and he wanted to end it all. Why wouldn't Dipper let him have this? Bill didn't want to hurt his Pine Tree, but he was making dying difficult.

When it seemed he took too long to respond, Dipper looked away and mumbled, "If you're determined to drive us over this cliff, then just do it and get it over with."

"Not with you in here."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dipper said dryly. "Well, I'm not getting out, so that doesn't leave you with many options."

This kid was ridiculous. Bill had come here to kill himself, not deal with a stubborn sapling. "I could make you," he threatened. "I could drag you out and book it over the edge. You staying here isn't being  _helpful_."

He didn't know what he wanted right now beyond death. Bill was torn between wanting to take Dipper out, to kill him before suicide claimed his soul, or to cast him out to the dirt road and jump. All of this, just because Pine Tree wouldn't fuck off.

"If you were going to forcibly remove me, you would've by now. What do I need to do? This?" Dipper asked, exasperatedly kicking his feet onto the dashboard. "If you actually told me why you wanted to die so badly, maybe I'd be more willing to leave."

Because of him. Because of how Bill felt. He wasn't redeemable… and he was getting sick of the kid pressuring him. Telling him he had to answer him if he wanted him to leave, trying to convince him to not die. It was exhausting, but Bill had an idea on how to make him stop.

He moved to exit the vehicle and went to the passenger side. Throwing open the door, he leaned down to grab the still-defiant Dipper with the intention of dragging him out but in an instant was met by the kid unexpectedly squishing their mouths together, kissing him.

Oh, and the familiarity was comforting. Bill liked this, caving into the kiss with a hunger, while Dipper let out a small noise of appreciation, his hands rising to frame his face and pull him closer.

It was sweet, something he didn't realize he was missing, but it took only a moment for him to recollect himself and realize what he was doing. No. No, no, no, no. He couldn't keep doing this, and he pushed Dipper away from him as he backed off, panicking. This was exactly the kind of behavior he wanted to snuff out.

Blinking and startled, Dipper retracted his hands and somehow his entire body with them, leaning deeper into the car with his legs folded defensively. "What? What's wrong?" he asked in this scrunched up form, eyes owlish.

Bill didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to face Dipper and his inviting and plush– no,  _gross_  lips. Fuck him. "I hate you."

Dipper didn't move, but he did observe quietly, "That's the first time you've ever said that to me. Kind of surprised it didn't happen sooner, with how many times I've…" there was a vague hand motion, accompanied by an increasingly panicked expression. "You don't mean that, do you? I— rhubarb?"

The time of safe words was long past, and Bill took another step back before he returned to the driver's side of the car, Dipper watching his every move. "I hate you so much." It seemed to work, to crush the kid. Maybe he wouldn't try to stop him from killing himself now. "Get the fuck out of my car."

"For someone who hates me so much, you're certainly not eager to take us both over this cliff," Dipper replied bitterly, voice hurt and warbling. Gaze trained to his lap, his harshness was toned down as he added, "I don't see the problem, and I know that's what you'll do if I leave."

"No," he grumbled furiously. "I'm not here to kill  _you_ , I'm here to kill  _me_. You shouldn't have gone after me, you fucker."

"For fuck's sake," Dipper groaned, rolling his eyes, "just tell me why you want to die so badly, and I said I would consider leaving. If you're really unhappy, I don't want to make you suffer, but this… sort of came out of nowhere, so I think it's logical to question it."

Bill had no obligation to answer that, and he stared blankly. Although he looked uncomfortable, Dipper didn't budge by giving into him nor did he leave, but he did make little air-conditioner-esque noises of distress, shifting his weight every ten seconds like he couldn't sit still.

There were a few minutes of dragging silence that passed between them before Dipper tried, "Was it me, or being friends with benefits? You kind of freaked out after we kissed." The guess hung suspended between them until he cleared his throat. "Look, we don't have to do that anymore. We don't even have to  _talk_ to each other anymore," his eyes were watery as he raised them to Bill's, "but don't die, dude. Please." He wanted to, so badly.

When the explanation came, it was devoid of emotion and distant, "I have become a fag. I don't like that I am. It has made me unclean,  _tainted_ ," the word was brittle, "and only death can fix me."

Initially, Dipper appeared stunned but then it sunk in, and he frowned to say, "Um. Wow, okay, that's… really offensive, and how did you discover that in like— actually, it doesn't matter." After a pause, a long sigh was drawn from him. "Nobody cares if you're into guys, Bill. I mean, I'm bisexual, and Mabel has a girlfriend—"

Bill didn't care if anyone else was gay,  _he_  just couldn't be. "No one gives two shits about you," he coldly responded, and Dipper flinched, averting his eyes. "The issue is  _me_. I am a fucking faggot and that's unacceptable. It's ruined my good Christian reputation."

"First, being  _gay_ ," he emphasized, irritation slipping in, "is not unacceptable. It's seriously fine, like.. not an issue, at all. There's nothing wrong with it, and there's nothing wrong with  _you_ being gay either." Glancing to him again, Dipper's fingers tapped against the console while he impatiently went on, "And second, you are basically the worst Christian ever, and that didn't start.. uh, whenever you figured this out. You curse, are the biggest jerk sometimes, you're really into how rich you are, and oh, yeah— you've  _murdered people_ , including your parents! Compared to those things, being gay is probably the least of your sins or whatever."

He thought Dipper would be supportive, even understanding, but instead he was met with strained hostility that soured his mood further. "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." It was becoming almost true. How could his Pine Tree be so cruel?

Bitterly, Dipper pointed out, "Still ruining that 'good Christian reputation.' I think you're supposed to love, not hate. Pretty sure suicide's also a sin."

"Fuck off, dickwad." It was becoming typical– of course Dipper would do nothing but nag him. At this rate, he'd die of boredom before he had the chance to kill himself.

"I'm no expert, but I think the foundation of your religion is moral righteousness," Dipper said matter-of-factly. "You clearly understand calling  _me_ a fag is immoral since you haven't been doing it. What, do you have double standards when it comes to yourself?"

That hit a nerve. "The foundation of modern Christianity is hypocrisy," he informed him icily, but Dipper seemed to bite back a hesitant, wavering smile at that. Bill wanted to smack it off once and for all. His family had been immoral in their methods, no doubt; he'd been raised to preserve his fortune and pretend to be supportive of the lessers that followed their religion. Personal interests had always taken precedence over religious values, not that his family had advertised it, and religion had been a tool at their disposal to maintain good standing within social circles.

"I, uh… I guess I don't really know what to say to that, but I still want you to know you can be attracted to guys, and you don't have to feel guilty about it." Dipper explained, "There's nothing unnatural about homosexuality, regardless of what that scientifically-unverifiable book of yours might say." Christ, what an egghead with his 'scientifically-unverifiable' bullshit. No wonder he and Fordsy got along.

"Go sleep with Six Fingers," he told him. "You can make him swoon with your Bible-hating."

Looking uncomfortable, he mumbled, "Okay, that's… a little unnecessary, but I'll keep that in mind? I guess we'll get each other all hot and bothered by talking about Darwin's discoveries."

"You can do that after I'm dead." He wished he had his gun on him, everything would be so much faster. One bang to the head and it'd be lights out.

"Oh, come on. Don't kill yourself," Dipper said, flopping back against the passenger seat. "This doesn't have to be a problem, Bill. You're not broken or wrong or fucked up, or anything like that. You're gay, you live in one of the most progressive cities in the entire nation, and there's no reason to be ashamed."

Bill still hated Dipper. Or he thought he did, he wasn't sure. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" his voice had dropped to a mutter. "I tell you to fuck off, and you stay like the pest you are."

"I— I'm not going to let you commit suicide over this," he sputtered, nervously fiddling with his hands. "Being gay is… is just a part of a person's identity, like a favorite food. You don't need the boundaries of Christianity to define you when you step outside of them anyway." There was a little break in the words, barely long enough for Dipper to seemingly recollect and rein in his thoughts. "I know it sounds selfish, but I don't want to be without you, and if you really do hate me… Well, we don't have to hang out anymore, but I still hope you don't die. I care about you and want you to be alright, y'know?"

He wasn't convinced by his speech, but it seemed Dipper wouldn't be relenting anytime soon. The piece of shit, Bill should've never let his guard down to begin with. Shouldn't have gotten so close. Without a word, he threw his car in reverse and began to turn to go up the dirt road.

"Hey, um.." he appeared confused, looking out the window as they drove while the scenery passed them in rapid succession, "where— where are we going? Hopefully, not toward any semis?" There was an obviously forced, anxious chuckle. "Sorry. That was bad, and I know it's not the best time for dumb jokes..."

"You can't tell?" he challenged. "We're going to the shithouse."

"Are you going to try to kill yourself there?" Dipper asked, alert. "If you want me to stay with you— I mean, if you don't hate me, I guess?" He tripped over himself as he attempted to get the sentence out, exhaling in frustration. "Ugh, I'm just trying to say that I'll stay with you if you want me to, or I could get Stan or someone else…"

"I want you to stay the fuck away from me. And if you try sending Stan or someone else, I'll jump out the window."

Dipper looked aghast, jaw going slack before it set into a firm expression of disapproval. "Bill." It was filled with a low sort of danger, a hint of a growl, but he didn't care. "I won't send anybody if you let me stay. We can go back to the penthouse, I can make us something to eat, and then we could… I don't know, watch  _BoJack_  together? Let's focus on getting through the next few hours, and we can deal with the rest of this later."

None of this sounded good to him. Or perhaps it sounded too good, and he was punishing himself for desiring it. "You already sent the dogs after me," he spat, keeping his eyes on the dimly lit road. "That's the reason you're here now. If you just left me alone like I fucking asked, I'd be a lot fucking happier, You've just made everything a lot shittier, asshat."

"Let me get this right: you're literally saying you'd be happier dead than sitting here with me?" Dipper's voice cracked, and his eyes were blazing, but he mostly sounded… sad. Hurt. Maybe there was a pinch of fear in there, fear that he'd placed back into him after weeks of being on equal ground. "Geez, way to make  _me_ want to die." Yes, well. If he died, it wouldn't be because of Bill. With any luck, he'd be long gone if he couldn't get Dipper out of his head.

A small part of him felt remorseful over his comments, his actions, but that was squashed by the determination to eradicate himself. He was a fag, a blot on the decent, upstanding Cipher bloodline, and therefore he needed to die. He was ruined. "I'd rather be gone than spend another second in this… this  _faggy_ , shitty body. You can suck a chode to death for all I care."

Stealing a glance in his peripherals, he saw his companion was teetering on fury. "You don't have to die. See, I have this amazing idea," Dipper said sweetly, but there was an underlying snarl. "You can just…  _stop_ being gay! It works so well, right?"

Bill hoped the kid was shot and tortured before he died. He was sick of him, his attitude– shit he hadn't wanted to deal with, why he'd asked to be alone. Dipper disregarded his request like a bitch, and he hated him. "Or, here's a thought: don't be a fuckhead and leave me alone."

A huff, and Dipper was turned away from him again. "I know coming to terms with your sexuality is hard for you, but it doesn't have to be. I hope you know the only one who has a problem with this is you." There was a slight  _clunk_ as he let his head fall into the glass of the passenger seat window, sneaking looks at him from the corner of his eyes. "But fine, I'll leave you alone. I just don't want you to hurt yourself." Chances were, that didn't mean Dipper was really going to leave him alone. That was his method of phrasing 'I'll stop talking to you… for now', most likely.

Paused at a stoplight, Bill glanced to Dipper and could see the faint red blemishes on and around his neck. Fuck, how Bill hated himself and his gayness. He was so pathetic, a waste of space and energy. Killing himself was the only way he could cleanse himself, cleanse his family name. Losing Dipper… as much as it hurt, he deemed it for the greater good.

It wasn't as if his presence was significantly improving his life right now. In the time he'd been quiet, Dipper had scrunched up again into a smaller form of himself, a distant and glassy look in his eyes as he continued to gaze to the city before them. The faintest shimmer of a wet trail lined his cheeks, his jaw clenched firmly like he was trying to prevent any noise from escaping.

Stars, he was beginning to feel bad about upsetting him. It was hard not to, with how he was struggling to not cry in the corner. He wasn't worth that. Fags like him weren't worth that. "Pine Tree."

Sparing him a questioning look, it seemed like the kid wasn't staring at him but was instead staring through him.

"Wipe that shit off your face, it's not worth it." He made up his mind– why bother being upset? Bill was gay, the only solution for him was death. He couldn't fix himself. He hated himself. He hated hurting Dipper. He hated loving Dipper. Why did things have to be so damn complicated?

Expression melting into a pout, he replied with a flat albeit bold, "No. You can't tell me what to do. I'm not yours to worry about anymore."

"You never fucking listened anyway, Pine Fuck."

"I think you're blurring the line between 'listened' and 'blindly obeyed my every demand.'"

"Fuck you." He wasn't wrong, though. With a roll of his eyes, the familiar clunk resounded on the window as Dipper lost interest in the conversation. In  _him_. Bill hated that kid. He loved that kid. He wanted to spend his entire life with him. He wanted nothing to do with him. Seriously, the little shit was undeserving of his affections. "They should've left you in your parents' house." Bill wouldn't have had such a shitty time then.

As if he wasn't paying attention anymore, he made a light 'mhm' noise and said plainly, "Probably." Bill knew he was being ignored, he could feel it, and it didn't sit right with him.

"All this shittiness is because of you," he reminded him, prodding for a reaction. Clearly, all of this was Dipper's fault. Bill wouldn't be gay if he weren't so damn cute, and he wouldn't want to kill himself if he hadn't  _seduced_ him.

Sounding tired, Dipper muttered, "Because I set back your important plans of killing yourself, I know. I may as well be the bane of your existence."

No, that wasn't all of it. "You're the reason I fucking want to kill myself."

"Um.." Thank the stars something finally caught his attention. It was about time he didn't look so bored, but it was replaced by confusion and alarm. Paling, Dipper shuffled his weight and choked out, "Tell— tell me what that means."

What did it mean? He knew damn well what it meant. "No." Fuck him if he didn't know after all of this. After everything, this wasn't a matter of Bill losing Dipper– he was pushing him away, getting rid of him. Bill remained in control, leaving Dipper out of his life. Not long ago, he would've done anything to convince Dipper to stay. Now, the circumstances were different, and he wanted him gone.

Verging on paranoia, Dipper seemed to become more desperate. "Tell me."

"Why do you care now?" Bill demanded, foot pressing harder onto the gas. Anything to get them there faster and end this conversation, and it wouldn't be long until he was free of him. "You made it clear you were fine with ignoring me."

" _I'm_ the reason you want to kill yourself," he repeated brokenly. "Sorry? I don't know what I did, but I— I don't want to stay away from you because I'm afraid you'll, y'know—" Dipper looked away, "try again."

Sucks to be the kid, this wasn't going to stop him. "I will try again." All he had wanted was to be alone and jump off a cliff. While the cliff was no longer in question, it was difficult to understand why Dipper wouldn't respect  _one_  of his wishes. "'If you don't leave me alone."

They'd reached the garage of the complex, thank the stars, and Bill maneuvered them into a parking spot, then killed the engine. Although he was about to tell Dipper to get out, he didn't have a chance before he spoke.

"If that's what I need to do to stop you from killing yourself, fine." Although he sounded hurt, he could give Dipper a little credit for trying to hide it, trying to maintain some sort of brave face. Wiping at his eyes and making a blind grab for the handle of the door with his other hand, he added, "I'll leave you alone, and we don't have to talk or be friends since we're almost at the end of those two months. Mabel and I can go, then you won't see us again."

"Good riddance!" Bill called after him as he exited the car, then it dropped to a mumble. "We didn't need you anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus POV swap [here](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/177600994592/c24-bonus-content). Next update is Wednesday!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for these marvelous folks: CANDYcake, Piqued Penguin, theincognitoburrito, LumianaKatenke, Ace, Anonymous, Acewolf, ProjectIcarus, saltyasian, zeo_nulla, Violet_arabian, DragonGirlBoss, and RW1298. We appreciate your comments and will reply as soon as we can! But I'm going to be honest, this is sort of a meh chapter to have dedicated to you, so with that in mind, this dedication extends to the future Chapter 26 as well— it's better. ;)

It'd been several days of minimal contact with Bill, their sole interaction an awkward cough and lack of locking gazes as they drifted like ghosts around one another, refusing to acknowledge the other's existence with more than a fleeting stare. Dipper had kept his promise to Bill by staying away, but he'd been a wreck of a person ever since that evening. At the time, he thought it'd be an impossible endeavor with how they'd previously been so deeply attracted, always finding an excuse to interact and be together, but it appeared Bill had foreseen the problem.

His solution? Elusivity.

Although he hadn't challenged Bill with physical proximity, partially because he was afraid of the repercussions and partially because Bill was never around anyway, he'd sent a few texts. They'd been read, as revealed by the read receipt, but no responses had come through. Bill was ignoring him, still undoubtedly pissed, and he remained mostly in the dark as to why when he'd never received an explanation that made sense and was consistent with the rest of his behavior. In the abundance of spare time that he had to wander around the penthouse aimlessly, pacing to help himself think, he'd mentally mapped out some possibilities.

Homophobia, anger over the comments he'd made, or perhaps when he'd stubbornly refused to allow Bill to kill himself... he didn't know what it was that'd set him off, but it looked like he was never going to find out, an unsolved mystery he'd never have answers to.

Dipper had tried to move on with his life, make the best of the dwindling time they had left with Stan and Ford, since he'd been upfront about the possibility of leaving now that he and Bill couldn't be in the same room comfortably. It wasn't a surprise to anybody, just a disappointment. As if to make the best of his last weeks, the brothers had stuck to bringing him and Mabel on smaller jobs, the jobs Stan affectionately referred to as 'Sunday moneys' (meaning easy, he supposed, but he didn't understand the term.) The jobs were alright and went smoothly, but ultimately were bland.

Maybe they weren't of interest to Bill—he knew he preferred missions with high stakes—but Bill hadn't been on any of them. Not that he could be, as he hardly was around the penthouse anymore. Either out or cooped in his room, everyone had seen significantly less of Bill. Stan brushed it off as a phase, citing he would get over it, meanwhile Ford was bothered by his voluntary seclusion but didn't know how to help.

While he'd thought having Bill somehow vanish from his life would give him more time with Mabel, he seemed to be incorrect in his assumption. It was rare that she wasn't somewhere with her friends or girlfriend Pacifica, and that was fine albeit lonely. Stan and Ford were often gravitating around the shared living space but didn't stay. No wonder Bill dreaded this. The penthouse could be frighteningly quiet.

But to his relief, this afternoon was one of the times Mabel  _was_ around, and they were flopped on the sofa together while some easygoing sitcom played on the television. Mabel was enjoying it (and her popcorn) while Dipper enjoyed her presence. Their off and on discussion had consisted of a general check in about life, talking about the show they were watching, some reminiscing about their younger years and their parents, and of course he'd heard all about the latest with Candy and Grenda. Content to listen and distract himself with this, he was actually glad their conversation hadn't steered toward Bill— until, well, it did.

Mabel was happily munching down on her food, glancing at Dipper as she spoke through a mouthful of popcorn. "So, Bro-bro! How's it been going with Bill? Have you two made out again yet? Give me all the deets!"

"Nah," he tried to say as coolly as possible. It wasn't a big deal, their falling out with one another. It was just… the breaking off that they both knew would come eventually, though he hadn't expected it'd come so soon, or like  _that_. His mind was still reeling over the fact Bill had wanted to die, and he wished he could be there for him in a way that wasn't total avoidance despite its effectiveness.

After some investigative work, or more appropriately described 'interrogating Stan and Ford', he'd learned Bill was doing better, and that was reassuring. Reportedly, he was distant but in alright spirits, and he hadn't expressed a desire to kill himself.

Dragging himself from his thoughts, Dipper told her, "We sort of.. don't do that anymore." They didn't make out, kiss, touch, talk, have a friendship, or fight, yet the indifference stung worse than the loss of all of those.

"Aw," Mabel said after she swallowed. She shoved another handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Are you planning on getting back together? You two are a cute couple!"

They were perfect for each other, as Bill would say, the words echoing in his head. It made his heart ache. "I don't know about that," he countered, not bothering to clarify they weren't a couple for the sake of simplicity. "We… fought a lot," yet they'd found a system to work out arguments constructively, "and had our differences." Political, moral, religious— they were opposites, not that it'd ever mattered to them until now.

Ugh, Dipper just wished he didn't miss Bill so much.

Addressing the piece about getting back together, he stated, "I doubt it. If we're going to be leaving in less than a couple weeks, he won't be able to contact me."

She giggled, the action sending out a spray of popcorn bits. It was kind of gross, and he pulled his legs tighter against himself. "Oh, Dippy! I wouldn't be so sure! He has contacts everywhere and if he wanted to speak to you, I think he'd find a way to get to his  _Pine Rose_!"

Although he may have otherwise been embarrassed by the use of the affectionate nickname, now it simply stirred hurt within him, and he glanced downward in sorrow. "That's the thing," he pointed out. "He won't  _want_  to contact me. A while ago, that night I came back really late? We.. had this argument over some heavy stuff, and he specifically told me to stay away or he'd kill himself."

"Do you think he really would?"

"No, but I don't want to.. tempt or upset him." Bill was a spur-of-the-moment sort of guy; Dipper wouldn't put it past him to recklessly do something that could kill him, if only to prove that he would when his threat was challenged.

Mabel hummed thoughtfully, now shoving her face in the popcorn bowl to lick the last remnants of butter, popcorn, and salt. "I'm sure he'd chicken out of it, Dippy!" Her voice echoed from the bowl. "Bawk bawk!" The imitation of a chicken was questionable, but she was probably onto something. Regardless, he didn't want to push his luck when Bill had a tendency of surprising him.

Setting down the bowl, she went on, "Don't worry your pine-needles about it! Just talk to him! As a self-proclaimed love guru, I really think you should because he might have something important to say!" The 'something important to say' part held a sing-songy inflection, and he raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.

"Look, if I see him and the situation is right, maybe I'll try," Dipper conceded. "He's hardly been around the penthouse. I don't know where he goes, but it hasn't been here." And he would've heard it too, being back to sleeping on the sofa.

"Well," Mabel began. "When Pacifica and I got in a fight over fashion, we ended up sitting down and talking about it. Maybe you should try that with Bill! The talking, not the fashion. He has you beat at that. Anyway, about Pacifica and I," she grinned, "things are getting serious and we were totally thinking..."

Ignoring the insult to his precious plaid and jeans, Dipper considered her suggestion but mused aloud, "What if he doesn't want to talk to me?" Lost in his thoughts and the unsettling dread that arose from the realization that he may never have closure with this, he hardly heard Mabel as she continued to speak.

"...that it'd be AMAZING if we were always together, and it's possible that we're—!"

He supposed if Bill didn't want to talk to him, he could continue texting. It would be a one-way conversation, but at least he would see what he was trying to convey, even if it didn't elicit a response.

Suddenly, he asked, "Do  _you_ know what's going on with Bill?" Doubtful, but maybe Stan had talked to her, or… he wasn't sure, really, but he acknowledged and was slightly envious of how Mabel was better with people stuff than he was. She was intuitive to feelings and handled emotional situations like a pro, he was an awkward wreck.

She hesitated. "Uhh, nope! But maybe you should talk to him again, get nice and cozy." Mabel winked at him, falling into a fit of giggles.

Dipper's head tilted. "O..kay? I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

The day went on, transforming into evening. He'd prepared dinner, eaten it with the residents of the penthouse (minus Bill), and had time to overanalyze the situation for the hundredth time. It was around then that Mabel's advice, coupled with his own idea about texting, had him writing and rewriting and deleting only to repeat the process as he tried to think of something to message him. What more was there to say, when Bill made it clear he wasn't welcome in his life?

Dipper felt conflicted, caught between respecting Bill's boundaries and desperately desiring some form of an official ending with him, with their relationship that'd crashed and burned overnight.

 **(6:45 PM)**  Hi

 **(6:47 PM)**  I just wanted to say that I know you're mad, but I miss talking to you and being around you

 **(6:48 PM)**  I wish I knew what I did wrong

 **(6:48 PM)**  I hope you're okay

 **(6:49 PM)**  I guess you're physically okay, I mean.. you're reading these so

 **(6:51 PM)**  Yeah I just miss you, that's it

 **(6:51 PM)**   _are you spying on me?_

Surprised by getting a response in the first place, Dipper's heart thumped wildly in his chest, and he stared for several seconds while wondering what to say to ensure Bill didn't disappear on him again. Texting wasn't ideal, but he'd take it over nothing.

 **(6:52 PM)**  Uh no

 **(6:52 PM)**  I don't even know where you are

 **(6:53 PM)**  Your read receipt is on

 **(UNAVAILABLE)** _k_

And the jackass turned it off. Of course.

Subsequent texts were met with silence once again, though it wasn't a surprise that the 'just talk to him' approach had failed via text. He'd have to wait until he returned to the penthouse, if he did anymore.

Later in the evening, Dipper found himself on the penthouse's balcony— not aiming to jump this time, but instead lazily spread over the patio sofa as he watched the sky change from bright yellow hues to rays of orange, then a pinkish sunset engulfed the city. Glittering stars bled through the polluted sky, just faintly visible beyond the smoke and clouds.

Consumed by his thoughts and mindlessly drawing in his sketchbook, he didn't register the change of scenery, content to indulge himself in the various theories and possibilities, some plausible and some admittedly outlandish, of what had gone wrong between him and Bill.

Dipper didn't know why it bothered him so because it wasn't as if he could repair it if Bill had no interest in trying, but as his texts had outright said, he really missed having him in his daily life.

The door to the balcony slid open, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Stan's broad form step out to join him. "Hey kid," he greeted him. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, hey," Dipper said, lowering the sketchbook to his stomach so he could look at Stan better from his current position. Considering the question, he gave a light shrug and dodgily mumbled, "Uhh, things. Normal things, the usual." Not Bill, not Bill, not Bill, not Bill—

Hell, the  _only_  thing on his mind was Bill.

"Ah, so you're thinking about how your boyfriend doesn't love you but you're pretty sure Mabel does?"

"Yeah, I'd hope so," Dipper responded. "If you're talking about Bill, he… doesn't, and he's not my boyfriend."

It was better for both of them that love wasn't an element of this equation, at least. There'd been a brief moment, a small portion of his last non-text conversation with Bill in which he'd been certain that was where things were going, the dangerous implication suspended between them, but he had been glad they didn't cross into that complicated territory.

Maybe Dipper knew he had the tiniest of crushes on Bill, but that…

That was irrelevant. If Bill was aware of his more-than-friendly affection, he hadn't shown it, perhaps due to his own understandable disinterest in Dipper. He'd made his peace with his stupid, irrational feelings by ignoring them, clinging onto the positive: he wouldn't have to face his fear of attachment since it wouldn't turn into anything more, not with Bill's outlook on romantic relationships and love as a concept.

The bottom line was that it wouldn't happen, and in retrospect, it'd been silly to think that was what Bill had been attempting to suggest to him that night. Probably.

Stan's voice was a low chuckle. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, kid."

Mind floating back to what he'd said, Dipper asked with concern, "You don't think Mabel loves me?" Because there was no way he could be referring to Bill.

"I was talking about your boyfriend, actually." He smirked as he moved to sit beside him on the couch.

Unwilling to recognize that Stan was hinting at Bill, Dipper picked at the fabric of the patio sofa and looked toward the dull stars again. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Glad to hear you aren't dating him, but what's Bill to ya then?"

Heterosexual life partner, favorite bumblebee, exclusive friends with benefits, the biggest dork he'd ever met.

"Former friend," Dipper said, trying not to choke on his words when his throat had tightened thinking about this, about how he still wanted Bill in his life. It had hurt at the time and continued to hurt, being pushed away as if their history and all of what they'd gone through didn't mean a single thing to Bill. They'd known one another for a short amount of time, but that time had been spent heavily together.

And being told he was the supposed driving force behind his desire to die, that'd wounded him.

After seeing Stan's questioning gaze, Dipper elaborated, "Bill cut things off and said he didn't want to see me anymore, so.. that was that, I guess." Realizing Stan could get the wrong impression, he added a quick, "Not that we were dating!"

"Did ya break his dick or sumthin', kid? Not like him to ditch one of his, ah, 'bitches.'"

Making a face at both the suggestion and term, he said, "No, I don't think so? We didn't do anything." Not… anything that'd cause dick-breaking, that was, and he'd narrowed it down to two core interactions that'd disintegrated their relationship: when he'd stopped Bill from committing suicide, and his backtalk throughout the evening.

He tried to brush the thoughts away, and Dipper's nose scrunched as he considered the second piece in particular, asking, "Is that how he referred to me?" If so, that was annoying— he'd taken measures to avoid being grouped in with Bill's entourage and one night stands.

Stan laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, kid. I was just fuckin' with ya. He hasn't said much, honestly, beyond how ya have some decent mouthwork." With a groan, Dipper blushed, covering his face in his hands and deciding he was never coming out. "Seriously though kid, if you're wonderin' why he's avoiding ya, it's probably 'cause he's an emotional mess."

Well, he guessed that was reason enough to drop his hands back to his sides, puzzled as he stared at Stan. "He's an emotional mess? I know he's been mad at me, but…" it wasn't what Dipper would call an emotional mess, quite frankly. That was usually reserved for him. Intrigued and wondering if Stan knew more about this than he let on, Dipper pressed for answers, "What's bothering him?" If he knew that, perhaps he could convince Bill to reestablish a working relationship minimally, since this cold awkwardness was killing him—

"Ya honestly don't know?" He seemed surprised. "Kid, the guy has mushy feelings for ya. That's why he's goin' around sprouting that Bible nonsense, tryna pray his gay away."

As rapidly as the color had risen in his cheeks, it drained and left him not just paler than normal, but startled. Alarmed and overwhelmed by this new information. "A-are you sure? I mean," Dipper gave the smallest of laughs, sounding nervous, "it's Bill." Bill didn't do love or affection, not like.. that.

Stan's eyes rolled. "'Course I'm sure, the dude's an open book. He has a raging boner and crush for you and it's freaking him the fuck out."

"That's… why he said— oh." It clicked into place with stunning clarity, what Bill had been talking about their final night together.

It unfortunately confirmed his fear, and he'd been so terrified, so paranoid and worried about this outcome. Neither he nor Bill were ready for a romantic relationship, were they? And yet, that was now the expected progression of things— but it couldn't be, not when they weren't on good terms. They weren't on neutral terms, they were definitely on  _bad terms_.

They couldn't be ready. Stan had said it himself, Bill was an emotional mess and had been suicidal over this. Similarly, Dipper didn't think he could handle a commitment when the fear of attachment, a lingering psychological effect of losing the majority of his family overnight, held him back. With the odds stacked against him, he determined acting on it was out of the question.

It still struck disbelief into the very depths of his soul. Bill Cipher, having a crush on him? Maybe they'd engaged in traditional 'couple activities' on multiple occasions, but it hadn't  _meant anything_.

"...Are you gonna freak out, too?"

Shaken from his thoughts, he tried to formulate a coherent reply when his mind was spinning, "I, uh…" Dipper brushed a hand through his hair, moving from the patio sofa as if in a dream, feeling numb. "I'm— I need some time to think about it, that's all." So what if he was freaking out? This was worthy of freaking out over, and mental maps and a few lists couldn't hurt and then he'd have to generate plans and a backup plan if those didn't work…

Dipper needed time to process, and he found that time in the comfort of the penthouse living room, swapping one sofa for another as he stared at a wall blankly. He wasn't nearly as serene as he appeared to be, and it was a surprise steam wasn't coming out of his ears with the way cognitions whirred within him at an incredible rate, going too fast to truly consider this impossible realization through cloudless judgment.

Although he didn't know exactly how long it'd been, it had to be the early hours of the morning when he was ripped from a sleepy daze by the main door creaking open. Dipper raised his eyes, spotting the lanky form of Bill stumbling inside, hand grabbing the wall for stability as he awkwardly straightened himself. That was far from his usual graceful movements, his long strides and confident air.

It was additionally worry-inducing when his formal attire was rumpled, hair a mess.

"Bill?" Dipper asked, squinting as his eyes adjusted. "Are you okay?" What Stan had told him earlier resided in the back of his thoughts, never quite leaving him alone, but now wasn't the opportunity for a confrontation over… that. There would never be an ideal moment, but he wasn't naive enough to believe they could sweep it under the rug forever.

Maybe when Bill didn't seem to be a danger to himself, that was when it'd be safe to talk about it. He just didn't want to put more mental stress on him since he struggled as it was.

Bill froze where he stood, turning his head to look at Dipper. His immediate reaction was to move toward the door of his room without a word.

Stumbling from the sofa, Dipper nearly tripped over the makeshift blanket as he vaulted over the back of it, trying to beat Bill to his bedroom. They didn't have to address the elephant in the room, but they did have to  _talk_.

By some miracle, Dipper managed to squeeze between the door and Bill in the nick of time, blocking his path.

Bill slumped against the wall, glaring at Dipper. "Fuck off, Pine Tree." His voice was slurred significantly, an indicator he'd been drinking. Well, it would've been but the heavy stench of booze in the air told the story for him.

Scowling, Dipper said, "I'll take that as… 'I'm not okay, Dipper, help me through my drunken stupor', and respond with a hearty, 'Sure, Bill. Wow, you seem nicer than usual.'"

"I don't want your help, jar."

"Jar?" he questioned, cocking his head. "Geez, you're really drunk." There was a pause, a sigh, and a hand rubbing his neck while he averted his gaze. "I know you don't want me around you. I get it. Do you want Stan or someone different instead?" It didn't need to be him, specifically— he simply wished to be assured that Bill was okay since his extreme intoxication was clear.

Bill huffed, glaring at him. "Don't touch me. I don't want or need any help." He moved to shove past Dipper, stumbling as he walked and almost falling over. He had to catch himself on the wall once more.

Dipper was immediately at his side again, urging Bill to lean on him. "Dude, let me help," he said, but it was more of a statement than a request, "or at least get somebody else." Because as much as he did want to be there for Bill, he understood there was a mountain between them.

Trying to support some of Bill's weight, Dipper opened the bedroom door and squeezed them through, walking Bill over to his starry bed and assisting him onto it with some difficulty. It was hard to support Bill's weight when he seemingly had no control over it either, swaying and tripping over nothing.

As soon as Bill was on the bed, Dipper could feel himself being pulled down too, Bill having grabbed him by the collar of his plaid shirt. Given no time to react, he was forced into a kiss, tentative at first but quickly becoming passionate as Bill's tongue swiped across his lips and pushed into his mouth.

With a startled noise muffed by the kiss, Dipper tore away from him, wiping his mouth and trying to ignore the awful taste of booze and cigarettes as he scrambled backward. "Bill," it was strained, and Dipper wanted to say more, but he didn't know what.

Bill made a move to follow him up, but he collapsed back into the mattress with a small grunt. "Pine Tree." He seemed annoyed the kiss had ended.

"Hey, it's fine," Dipper comforted, a hand drifting soothingly over Bill's chest, then stopping near his bowtie. As subtly as he could to avoid upsetting Bill, he undid the knot and slid the ribbon off the bed, concerned he would manage to choke himself with it in his intoxicated, sleepy state. "Just relax and get some rest."

It was sort of bittersweet, this interaction. Most likely the last they'd have in a while unless Bill had a change of heart and decided he was open to discussion or a rekindling of their friendship or a heist, but his chances were growing smaller as time ticked by. He wasn't about to get his hopes up.

"Join me," Bill muttered, his voice quiet. "Let's get  _cozy_ , doll."

Through a sharp intake of breath, he asked, "Wait, what?" That was familiar to something Mabel had said about Bill, but how Bill had stressed the 'cozy' part of getting cozy had him under the impression it wouldn't be innocent cuddling. A tremor in his reply, he said, "I don't think we should do that." Tomorrow would have Bill regretting tonight enough as it was.

Bill smirked up at him. "Come on, cutie. Get on my train, you know you want to." Dipper rolled his eyes. "It  _excites_  you. A lady like you is probably already wet and eager."

"A man like you is probably too drunk to get it up," he retorted, and if he hadn't been worried and stressed, he may have been amused by Bill's disproportionate faith in his twenty-five-year-old self's ability to achieve drunken arousal.

When he saw Bill's rapt attention hadn't strayed from him, he exhaled, "Give it a rest, Bill. I'm not going to sleep with you." Not like this, not when it would inevitably create bigger problems and complicate the existing ones that they already weren't overcoming. "Besides, I thought you wanted me to leave you alone."

"Don't care," he muttered. "Just wanna fuck. Lemme smash, Becky."

Trying to put an end to his attempts at seduction, Dipper didn't acknowledge what he said and simply told him, "Goodnight, Bill."

Bill raised his head. "Pine Tree? You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I'm going." He began to shuffle off of the edge of the bed and to his feet, in half to demonstrate that he was serious and half to destroy the hint of temptation that begged him to stay and kiss Bill and let things go in whichever direction instinct took them, despite the repercussions tomorrow.

He could feel Bill's eyes on his back. "Will you be coming back?" He sounded almost sad.

Pausing in his tracks, Dipper's heart pounded against his ribcage as he tried to bottle the intense hurt of their broken relationship, and Bill's sadness perfectly reflected his own. "I don't know, maybe." Fixing it was a distant dream, an unlikely situation since he'd be dealing with sober Bill. The same Bill who would, in no uncertain terms, tell him to get lost and stay out of his life. The same Bill who had feelings for him of the romantic sort, and neither seemed ready to face that so it hung like a cloud over them.

"You should," Bill murmured. "I don't like being alone."

Biting back a sigh, Dipper peered over his shoulder to respond, "Then don't push away the people who care about you." But with Bill drunk out of his mind and his own thoughts weighing him down, he recognized they weren't going to make any meaningful progress tonight. Forcing his eyes away, he resumed walking and slipped out of Bill's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is foreseeably (and roughly) a little beyond the halfway point, if anybody's wondering how much of the fic remains! Thanks again for all your support, and a huge apology to those who thought 'this will be a nice way to kill an afternoon' and now it's 200k words later and you're having regrets. Rest assured these dorks will get themselves together eventually. And by that I mean Bill and Dipper, not the authors.
> 
> Next update is Sunday, and there's a small preview for it [here](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/177775505112/your-method-to-madness-ratio-seriously-worries-me) since this chapter was shorter.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a carryover dedication to: CANDYcake, Piqued Penguin, theincognitoburrito, LumianaKatenke, Ace, Anonymous, Acewolf, ProjectIcarus, saltyasian, zeo_nulla, Violet_arabian, DragonGirlBoss, RW1298, MamMothFerre, alpha_dawg, GodDammitJess, and Allyce. 
> 
> Next update is Sunday since this chapter's huge, hope everyone enjoys it. <3
> 
> Warning(s): violence, blood, internalized homophobia

A last minute meeting with the crew had left Bill beyond frustrated. It'd gone something like this: Stan announced a heist, gave everyone cool jobs, then stuck him with Pine Tree and said they were placing the getaway vehicle without being involved in the actual heist. Lame, boring, and it had to be with Pine Tree.

He wished Shooting Star hadn't been out with friends this evening, he probably could've swapped one twin for the other. Stan wouldn't care, and he'd get along much better with Shooting Star.

But no, now he was stuck in this damn vehicle, driving the love of his life and one he most hated, though the same person, to the pickup location so Stan and the others could have a smooth getaway, meanwhile he was nearly falling asleep from boredom. Although Stan had warned the location may change depending on how the heist went, it didn't seem that was going to happen, making the entire mission an utter snoozefest.

With any luck, Dipper would spend their time focusing on the navigation. Bill didn't want to hear him more than he had to, as the conversation would inevitably delve into that night he'd come into the penthouse drunk, an interaction he'd pretend not to remember. He just didn't want a peep out of Dipper about it, fuck that kid and his soft lips.

On the upside, it wasn't like Dipper was the only company he had today. Because the heist was in progress, it required their headsets to be on, so he had the rest of the crew to spruce up this car ride with Dipper. When his options were the snobby brainiac, the oblivious one, and the slut, he was mostly interested in talking to Stan.

While intentionally ignoring the directions Dipper was giving him, he spoke into the headset: "Hey, Fez—"

"Unless you're dying, Bill, it can wait until later."

"I didn't catch what you were saying, Fez," Dipper said a bit tensely, Bill hearing the audio both physically beside him and over the communication line, "because someone else cut in. Could you repeat what you were talking about before?"

So now he was 'someone else.'  _Someone else,_ like Dipper didn't want to say his name anymore. Without restraint, Bill growled, "Not my fault you're fucking stupid, Pine Tree."

Casting a glare in his direction, Dipper didn't seem pleased with the insult and protested through a snap, "Yeah? Well, I'm still smart enough to have saved your ass multiple times."

"That doesn't define your intelligence," he spat back, Dipper's eyes narrowing with contention. "You were just lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time. I wouldn't have needed your fucking help anyway." At this point, he'd rather have been dead long ago. Not that he'd kill himself, he already determined it wouldn't be worthwhile. No, he was hoping for everything to go to complete shit on the heist for a change. "Why don't you fuck off–"

"Bill, Pine Tree." Stan's voice was cold, he was probably tired of their bickering since it'd been on and off during the ride. "Knock it off, we got work to do and there's no room for not getting along."

"Yeah, okay," Dipper responded, sighing. "Bill, your turn is coming up at the end of this stretch."

The sole response was a stiff nod, his eyes glued to the dirty road. It wasn't as if there was anything interesting happening aside from the distant sound of a siren and the usual traffic lining the dimly-lit, trashy streets of this side of Los Santos, but it was better than having to face Dipper.

Ford's voice entered the conversation, "Fez, Question Mark said the autodetection for the fire sprinkler system is down, and I've got the gasoline ready. Would you, ah, be able to lend me a hand?" Ah, yes. They were planning on igniting the gasoline inside the building, burning it down to destroy any remaining evidence.

"Hey Pine Tree, are you two almost here?" Wendy's voice came through the headset, and Bill's stomach twisted in a knot, displeased with how he wasn't addressed. Why did  _Dipper_ get her attention? It wasn't like Bill desired Wendy's attention specifically, but throughout the entire heist the crew had been communicating with his navigator instead of him, and it wasn't funny anymore. "Cops are gonna start showin' soon and crash our blaze party."

"Hold on." Dipper looked at their surroundings, then down to the GPS unit in his hands, lips thinning to a grimace. "Uh, almost. I mean, we would've been if Bill didn't miss the turn." Although it wasn't accusing, Bill still took offense. Dipper continued to provide amended directions, "Take the next left and we'll circle back."

"Maybe I shouldn't have been given a shitty navigator," Bill snarled. He fucking hated this kid. He loved him too. It was hard to decide. "Your sister would be a thousand times better than you."

Dipper's patience had drained faster than he'd ever seen, and he scathingly remarked, "She'd also be a lot more willing to put up with your stupid bullshit."

"I told you two to knock that off," Stan bellowed. "If ya keep at it, I'll beat both your asses when you get here."

Bill was tired of hearing Stan, so he did the only reasonable thing he could do. He turned off the headset, tossing it into the backseat without a second thought. It was a shame there wasn't a mute button for either side of the line, he would've used both, but turning the damn thing off was a feasible solution as well.

"What the hell, Bill?" Dipper squeaked, then gestured to the discarded headset. "You can't— you can't do that on a heist!" Probably in response to a prying question from Ford or Stan, he said, "...Oh, uh, nothing. He's not doing anything."

Hah, but he just  _did_. "Don't fucking tell me what I can and can't do. Fuck off." He glared at him, wishing he could kill him without Stan and Ford throwing a hissy fit. Not that he would. "The only one spouting bullshit here is you, Pine Fuck."

For a long moment, Dipper simply stared at him, and Bill could see fuming through his peripherals. After a huff and obvious deliberation, there was a  _click_ beside him, the slide of the headset's on/off button, and he set the device in his lap. How intriguing. "Y'know, fuck you, Bill. I've been  _nice_ to you this whole heist, at least until you decided to be a jerk."

He wasn't a jerk, if anyone it was Dipper for stealing his damn heart to begin with. "Oh look," he mocked, referring to the cast aside headset, "the sapling grew some balls, doing what he  _can't do on a heist_."

"I know the pickup location," Dipper reminded him bitterly, "and it's only… temporary, just so we can get this sorted out without Fez— Stan yelling in our ears." Turning his attention to the road, he said, "Okay, you're going to have to right turn onto Douchebag Lane. I don't have to tell you where that is, right? You're probably familiar with it?"

Although he took the indicated turn— not onto  _Douchebag_ Lane, but even so, Bill wanted to push Dipper out of his car and run him over until he was nothing but a bloody pulp. "Maybe you should fuck off onto Little Bitch Avenue. I'm sure you know where that is, so get out of my car and walk there."

After rolling his eyes and ignoring the jab, Dipper muttered, "Now just go straight for a bit." No. No. No. He wasn't gay. Why did he bring that up? He wasn't gay. He was  _straight_ , straighter than a board and he hated him for doing  _that_. Fuck the kid. Fuck him. He wasn't corrupted.

Bill had tried so hard to avoid these thoughts and even succeeded, but Dipper had to come in and bring them back. The piece of shit, why would he do that?

He seemed to realize his mistake, and he scrambled to fix it, "Wait, Bill, no," a groan as he sputtered, "that came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that."

How could he have meant anything different? The damage had been done, and Bill slimmed his eyes with anger. How could he betray his trust like this? He'd thought Dipper wouldn't touch that, being a sensitive subject, but now… now he could hardly look at him.

When silence had enveloped them for more than a comfortable amount of time, Dipper finally exhaled in frustration and glanced to him again. "I'm really sorry," he offered, unable to hold his gaze as he rubbed his upper arms. "That was my bad, it was just— you were saying all these things…"

"Leave me alone." He didn't want him, he didn't feel good  _at all_ , and he was tempted to shoot himself in his head to free himself from the homosexuality. If only he had a firearm, he'd left his pistol at the penthouse.

Dipper sounded so incredibly sad, his voice cracking, "Seriously, Bill, we're fighting on a  _heist_ , our lives could be in danger. That's not good. Can't we get through this, and you can hate me afterward?"

Why should he care? He didn't have a reason to after Dipper had thrown  _that_  in his face, albeit unintentionally. It was hard to feel sorry for Dipper despite how broken up he sounded. "I don't care. I don't want to talk to you."

"Okay," he defeatedly said, looking to the window instead. "You're going the right way, and your next turn—a left turn—is in three miles. Take that, and we'll pretty much be there, but remember where Stan said to park. I'm sure the crew is waiting for us by now."

They probably were, but Bill didn't care. He just wanted to get this over with so he could curl up alone in his room, where he was always meant to be. In the distance, he heard the wailing of sirens and Bill could see the flashing lights of the police vehicles in his rearview mirror. If only they were going after them, but no. They just zoomed by like bats out of hell, solidifying how boring this job was for him.

It took a few minutes to arrive at the heist location and get in position, growing confused when the others were nowhere in sight. "We're in the correct spot, right?" There was no reason for them to not be here by now.

Dipper shot back, "I wouldn't take us to the wrong spot." Then, with more curiosity and less animosity, "Do you think something's keeping them?" Fiddling with his headset, there was a  _click_ as it was turned on once again, and from the driver's seat Bill could hear the voices coming through loud and clear, yelling.

"Guys, what's going on?" Dipper asked over the noise of the  _official_  Owls. Bill liked reminding himself Dipper's position was temporary, soon he'd be rid of these affections. A hint of panic creeping into his tone, he went on, "We're at the location, is everything okay?" The yelling became significantly louder and Dipper winced from the direct shouting into his ear, hurriedly rushing through his words, "Okay.. okay, Bill, new location. It's a couple blocks away, like the back alley of the building. Sounds like things went wrong and they need to be directly picked up."

Ah, so Pine Tree  _did_  screw them over by removing his headset. Maybe that'd convince Stan to remove the kid from his life.

"...have to be picked up there because they're having a shootout with the cops and  _itsoundsliketheymighthavewounded_ , oh god. Oh god."

"Oh, goodie. I hope Red's dead." The whore. She was worse than Dipper, who probably would've glared at him if he hadn't been preoccupied with hyperventilating over this turn of events. Meanwhile, Bill wasn't in a rush to get there– Stan and Fordsy seemed to be doing just fine from how he heard faint shouting from the earpiece and the unmistakable crack of gunshots.

It became apparent his navigator didn't share his opinion, obviously displeased with his leisurely take on the ordeal. "Bill, come on!" Dipper whined with urgency, flinching again as the voices boomed in his ear, though it came across more like general chaos than anything meant for the two of them. "We have to  _go_!"

Spoilsport, he could never have fun anymore with Miss Save Them! around, the same kid who was now rocking back and forth in the seat while clutching his head, mumbling under his breath shaky variations of 'Jesus Christ' and 'oh my god' and 'please be okay.'

Bill threw the vehicle in drive and pulled out of the spot. Hitting the gas, they flew over the graveled road as he maneuvered the vehicle to their new location in the alley, careful to dodge obstacles like trash cans and spilled garbage and crates and other miscellaneous items littering the path. An ablaze building stood not far from them while police cars' blue-red glow illuminated the other side of the narrow passage.

The sirens and constant gunfire and shouting was like music to his ears, filling his body with a renewed adrenaline, and he whipped the vehicle around the corner and slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the rest of the crew, or getting too close to the burning building. Smoke was heavy in the air, streaming out of the building's windows as the place went up in an orange-red burst of light.

The first member of the crew he could spot in the mess was Ford, crouched behind a broken down, rusted car while taking shots at the law enforcement gathering on the main road nearby. His shelter had been sprayed with bullets, and the usually-calm man was losing his cool, probably painfully aware there wasn't much time if they wanted to make it out alive.

Continuing to scan, he finally caught sight of Wendy hovering near Soos while they took shelter from the bullets behind a stack of crates further down the alley, yet neither seemed to be doing any fighting against the cops closing in.

If Bill had to guess, his bets were on Soos if there  _was_  somebody injured, though he didn't look terribly beat up. Singed and afraid, maybe, but that wasn't a shock when they were less than twenty feet from an establishment that was on fire and caving in.

Speaking of, he mentally wished the fire department good luck with putting that mess out if they bothered to try, considering its hard-to-reach location. The building was already engulfed in flames, burnt bits and ashes raining from the sky and sending bright embers to the pavement.

Before he could look for the last missing member of the Owls, he was distracted by Dipper's outburst.

"Oh my god, what do we do?  _What do we do_?!" he asked through a strained screech, all but spasming in the passenger seat as terror seemed to grip the kid and hold on tightly. "Do we need to help them? They're— how are we going to fit in here?" The original plan had been placing the vehicle and slipping away  _before_ cops arrived, so Dipper had a point: they would have to configure a new escape.

Movement in the corner of his eye demanded his attention, and through one of the mirrors, he saw Stan was approaching. He was sneaking along the brick wall and staying clear of burning pieces of wood while trying to stay low, likely to avoid the barrage of bullets.

A sharp shattering joined the cacophony of bullet spray, and Bill looked in time to watch Ford make a dive for the pavement, shielding his face from the glass bursting from the recently-destroyed car windows to the ground. There was a yelp of a curse, a pained noise rising above the sound of destruction.

Apparently, Dipper had seen it as well. "Holy shit!" he cried as he instantly sat up, and it was instinctive to shove him back down to ensure he wouldn't get shot at whenever the police rounded the corner, but Bill restrained himself. Let the damn kid die if that was what he wanted. It seemed he did have a death wish as his hand drifted toward the door handle, like he was battling the urge to play superhero and go rescue the crew, but he had enough sense to stay put.

"Ford!" Stan's distressed call rose above the gunshots, ditching codenames in the midst of this chaos, and he abandoned approaching the vehicle to run to Ford's side. Kneeling beside him, a cursory examination was performed to check for serious injuries after helping him up.

"Is he okay?"

Bill simply shrugged in response to Dipper, unsure. Stan wasn't wailing or putting a bullet through his skull, so his nerdy brother was probably still breathing.

"He'll be fine," Bill said after Dipper prompted him with a frantic noise and gesture. "Can we get going now? I'd rather not die in an alley like Soos." Jabbing a thumb at the one in question, he realized Wendy and Soos were gradually following in Stan's path, squeezing along the brick walls to sneak over to them. He'd nearly lost track of Stan in the chaos, but soon found he was dragging Ford to the vehicle and banging on the backdoor. Eyebrows raised, Bill unlocked it, only to be greeted by Stan yelling.

"Where the  **fuck**  were ya?" he demanded through an intimidating boom. "We were gettin'  _fucked_  while ya were yappin' with your fuckin' headsets  _off_ , which if ya fucking do again I'll fuckin' kill ya myself."

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Dipper look so afraid, so downright terrified to his very soul, not even when he'd been threatened with death or another perilous situation. Naturally, it sparked protectiveness, but he blocked that little annoyance out since Dipper had said it himself: he wasn't Bill's to worry about. "We're sorry and we won't do that again," he blurted through a rushed squeak, then motioned to the police officers and their vehicles advancing into the alley, likely trying to trap them from each side and prevent any possibility of leaving in one piece. "Can.. can we just get out of here?"

As he spoke, Wendy and Soos had managed to reach the car, and they were filing into the backseat, sharing tense words among themselves. It was something about a burn or getting cut, maybe the odd muffled word about their personal first-aid kits, Bill couldn't make it out over the noise of the gunshots and raging inferno and Stan's cursing, but it was clear Soos had some injuries from the singed combat vest and his reddened, blistered skin. Burned from their own fire, what a bunch of clowns.

In another second, Stan had gotten Ford to the other side of the car, and Bill saw the gashes, blood dripping down in thin red lines from cuts on his cheek and the corner of his mouth. He heard Dipper's breathing go ragged as he noticed the same but  _stars be damned_ , now wasn't the time for one of his freakouts. "We don't have room for everyone with injured.  _You two_ ," this was a contemptuous snarl to Bill and Dipper, "are gonna have to leave and find your own way out."

"What?" Bill challenged dangerously, giving Stan an opportunity to change his answer before somebody truly got hurt unlike the petty injuries they'd sustained. "Leave those idiots behind, us staying here is a death trap." They could replace Soos and Wendy, easy enough.

"B-but the cops! And the building!" Dipper said with a splash of hysteria, eyes wild as they looked to each, then to Stan. "How do we get out?"

"Not my problem!" Stan snapped. "We wouldn't have injured if it weren't for you. Now scram," he nearly dragged Bill out of the vehicle, eliciting an annoyed grunt from him while Dipper was scrambling from the passenger seat, Ford taking his place while spilling blood on the leather, on his six-fingered hands, everywhere. "Meet us at the safehouse when you've got your shit together. Take my gun." Oh, good. One loaded rifle and no additional ammunition against the entire police force.

"Fuck you too, Stanley." The lack of codename was intentional, he didn't care if anyone managed to overhear. Bill didn't appreciate being uprooted, and he hated Stan's decision to save the fatty and Fordsy instead of them.

Maybe… he should teach Stan a lesson, something he'd never forget. Raising the rifle he'd been given, he began to aim it after the moving vehicle, trying to line the sights with the back of Stan's head. What had Stan done for him lately anyway?

Disbelief was etched on Dipper's face as he watched the getaway car bolt from the scene, appearing traumatized and scared out of his mind by this unexpected situation. "He just left us?! I thought—  _OHMYGODBILLSTOP_!" His shrill cry was accompanied by a hand smacking the barrel of the rifle, his finger accidentally squeezing the trigger. One bang later, and the streetlight across from them exploded into a cloud of glass.

Well, that was one bullet wasted. Hell if he knew how many there were left. Thanks, Pine Tree.

Dipper stared at him, distrust in his eyes. "You— you were going to  _kill Stan_?!"

"It's every man for himself, Pine Tree."

"Oh my god, oh my god," Dipper repeated through a shuddering gasp and was frantically rubbing his arms as Bill grabbed him, dragging the kid behind a dumpster for shelter. It was a little close to the flaming building, and he could feel the radiating heat warming his body, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "We're going to die, holy shit!"

Probably. The spray of bullets was never ending, and now he could hear them hitting the metal of their barrier. "We'll be fine." All they needed to do was follow his lead.

"Dude! Cops!" Dipper squealed through a wheeze, the freak out definitely impending. "There's nowhere to even  _go_!" It was true, the cops had both ends of the alley blocked, and Stan's team would have a hell of a time fighting through that street on their way out, but it wasn't as if he and Dipper could do that. They weren't in a metal death machine capable of mowing down enemies.

That really only gave them the option of going through the blazing building. "Hey Pine Tree," he said and shouldered the rifle. "Ready to get hot?"

Completely confused, he blinked at him and asked, "Um what..?"

"We're going to get out of this hellhole through that building." He pointed in the direction of the burning structure, knowing it led to the other unoccupied street… if they could get through it without their faces melting off.

His confusion shifted to horror, shaking his head at the plan to point out strainedly, "Okay, uh, Bill. In case you didn't realize, that building is on FIRE. It is  _literally_ crumbling apart right now, in front of us. Fiery parts are falling from the sky."

The plan was perfect. Bill would rather die from smoke than give the cops the satisfaction of killing him themselves. "Would you rather be a pincushion for bullets?" He didn't give Dipper much of a chance to reply, grip tightening on his arm and pulling him toward the building.

Trying to squirm out of his grasp and return to the dumpster, Dipper said, "Probably less painful than burning to death in a fire, so yes. Let—  _let go_!"

"The fire won't kill ya Pine Tree, it'll be the smoke that does it. Your remains would hardly be touched." Behind them, the distinct  _BOOM_  and subsequent pattering of a grenade going off rattled the dumpster they previously took shelter behind.

Staring in absolute shock, the sight of destruction seemed to freeze him for a couple long moments, then he exhaled shakily. "O-okay," he agreed, starting to pull in the opposite direction. "As long as we can get through quickly, it'll probably be alright…" it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

He'd better do that fast.

A few steps later and they were already inside the building, the heat much more overwhelming at this proximity, and Bill broke into a sprint, trying to avoid the crackling wood around them as the inferno grew. The fire had snaked up the walls and into the ceiling, holes and broken boards scattered around the room.

It'd been a small office building prior to the fire's damage, a partially abandoned one used to conduct drug deals. It was as he remembered it, just significantly more on fire.

Behind him, he could hear Dipper trying to keep the pace, footsteps close and sounding as if he was struggling to breathe with his erratic inhaling and exhaling. Kid was going to get himself poisoned in no time if he kept that up, though Bill wasn't fond of the idea of carrying him out of here when they were facing plenty of issues as it was: the flames were creeping up higher, surrounding them as they reached the ceiling and causing pieces of it to crash to the floorboards, sometimes breaking through them entirely.

There was a surprised noise, and Bill glanced over his shoulder to see Dipper dodging one of those pieces, barely skirting the spiraling coils of heat reaching for him.

The building rumbled around them, an ominous creaking. Instinctively, Bill grabbed Dipper and pulled him close, then there was a boom as the ceiling behind them collapsed, creating a massive wave of flame that luckily tapered off before it came too close. In its place, rubble remained, blocking off the exit and giving a physical barrier between them and any cops out there. "That wouldn't have hit me," he said, and it almost seemed like he was struggling to get closer for a moment as he muttered, "but thanks."

"Right, Pine Tree." They needed to focus on getting out, and Bill stepped away from Dipper to push open the only exit from this enclosed space: a door.

It didn't budge, and he tried it again, going as far back as he could to try to ram it. There must've been something blocking it, as it didn't move an inch.

"What are you waiting for, man?!" Dipper cried, turning around to slowly back away from the encroaching fire, a new blaze created by the caved-in chunk of ceiling.

"The door's stuck," he said. "I can't get it open."

"What?" it was a breathless, stunned question. "What do you mean 'can't get it open?'" Each word had more panic than the last, and if they weren't trapped, he may have found it funny as Dipper threw his minimal weight against the door. "Come on, come on," he pleaded as he pressed feebly, slumping against it with a mournful, "Why won't it open?!"

Well, that was probably because shit collapsed against it. Not that it mattered– they needed to find another way, and Bill wasn't seeing many options. The structure of the building rumbled again, and Dipper instantly clung to him with a fearful gasp, a cloud of ash and dust pouring down on the pair.

As it settled, Bill could see a hole, a Dipper-sized hole to be exact, had been created by the wreckage. And with an awkward cough, the person in question released him from his grip, taking a step back for good measure. "Just thought, uh.. we'd be safer, like that. So, what's the plan if we're trapped in here?"

"We'd just become Spam if anything collapsed on us in that position." Dipper made a face, teetering between terror and disgust, but as quickly as it appeared, panic took over when he seemed to realize how close the flames had become.

"Bill, we have to do something," it was a rough plea, several coughs following. It was getting rather smoky in here, the available oxygen depleting in their now-confined space, flames on every side.

Lucky for Dipper, he  _should_  be able to fit through that hole Bill spied. It wasn't very wide or tall, though he supposed that was perfect for him. "You're getting out of here," he informed Dipper, gesturing to the spot that'd been created by the wreckage, a rudimentary opening. "All you have to do is crawl through that hole, okay? You'll be fine."

Although Dipper had started moving toward it, he stopped abruptly and looked back at him. "It's… it's not— Bill, you won't fit?" The observation came out like a question, and he could see the moment where it clicked that he wouldn't be coming with. "What about you?"

"We don't have time for this," he told him. "Go."

Why did Dipper have to select this moment to be stubborn? He appeared offended at the mere thought of going alone and saving himself from this mess. "Are you serious? I'm not leaving you."

He didn't have a choice, and Bill moved to push him through. "Get out of here, for fuck's sake! Tell the cops some sob story about a kidnapping, then take your ticket to leave for good."

"Bill, don't!" Dipper protested, fighting against him but it was a losing battle when Bill's strength was superior to his noodle arms. "I'm not going without you!" While he could claim that all he wished, the reality was, he was in the process of being shoved through.

"Every man for himself!" Bill used a final burst of strength to push him the rest of the way through the hole, covering it with his body as he sat against it. Now Pine Tree couldn't try to kill himself by coming back to his side. "Sorry," he called. "You don't have a choice." Better he survive than Bill.

There was a sharp jab in his lower back, and he could hear Dipper shouting something at him, but it was incomprehensible when the crackling of the fire and groans of the building were much louder, preparing him for a fiery death. The sound of Dipper's voice ceased soon after, and Bill was glad the kid maybe was listening for once in his life and was choosing his health.

The kid was weird like that. Saving the world seemed to be his goal, but sometimes Bill wanted to tell him it was okay to save just one person, and that person could be himself.

Drawn from his thoughts by the inward movement of the fire, it came as no surprise when he was numb to the thought of death. Being in a gang had desensitized him to it, every day he ran the risk of dying. He was… alright with this, as long as Dipper got out in one piece.

That was all he really cared about, and he found peace in the notion: Dipper was safe, and he'd make it out of this alive. The rest didn't matter.

Already, the lightheadedness was kicking in. The oxygen was heavy with the scent of smoke, and it filled his lungs like a familiar friend. That'd be a nice way to go, Bill determined, pulling out a cigarette. Just him, a cigarette, its nicotine high, and the hungry fire closing in on him from all sides.

Impending death elicited only one regret: he wished he wasn't going to be meeting his demise on bad terms with Dipper. Their fight earlier, the general distance between them, the awkwardness, the mutual frustration. If he'd known today was it, his last chance to amend their relationship, he'd have tried to be more amiable. Religion be damned, it wasn't worth this. The ideals he'd been raised with could go to hell, he couldn't believe they were the reason he was going to die unhappy with himself, displeased with how things were between them.

Turning back time was impossible, so he guessed he'd merely have to accept the unfortunate end, the permanent closure of what he'd had with Dipper.

While enjoying his cigarette, there was a new noise, a low hum and clunking, and then cold water was spraying from the ceiling onto the flames, the emergency sprinkler system having been activated. Looking up in confusion, he didn't really understand. Hadn't the activation been disabled by the crew to prevent this exact situation? After all, the building was  _supposed_ to burn to the ground after the heist, that'd been part of the plan.

And then it hit him: the automatic sprinkling had been turned off, but the manual hadn't. That little shit. Why did he bother? Bill was ready to die. He had accepted it, would have rather  _sacrificed_  himself to save that tiny sasser.

The water was gradually fighting back against the flames, a deafening hissing joining the elemental symphony until it had created puddles of water on the floor, the flames mere licks of what they once were. Charred ruin was left behind.

Well, now he was soaked and annoyed that his suit was singed and covered in soot and ash. The cigarette was ruined. He moved to get off of the floor, kicking at the growing puddles angrily. "Fuck me."

"Bill!" Dipper called, squeezing back through the hole with some difficulty to dash over and pull him into a tight hug, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Holy shit," he croaked, "I was so worried about you and wasn't sure it'd work in time. I'm glad you're okay."

He went rigid under his embrace, questioning what he should do. They weren't friends. They weren't friends with benefits. Bill hated him, didn't he?

It was confusing and difficult to process. Hating Dipper was easier than loving Dipper, that was for certain, but he knew he didn't  _hate_ him despite his attempts to keep him at an arm's length. Initially, he'd thought it would work since it seemed Dipper was getting the hint, maybe hating him back, but times like these brought him to wonder if it was possible for them to hate each other, or stay apart at all, after what they'd been through.

"Wow, you actually smell better right now than you do after smoking," Dipper commented, a light tone suggesting he was perhaps making a feeble joke, the accompanying laugh small and quiet,  _relieved_. But oh, if only he knew. He guessed the scent of smoke had masked the tobacco. "The fire kind of died down… Do you think we could get out of here?"

Bill slowly pried himself from Dipper as he similarly backed off, shuffling away. Maybe they didn't hate each other, as Bill had previously deduced, but it was uncomfortable after what had transpired nonetheless. "We can leave. Are you ready to pull away some charred ass wood?"

"Yeah."

Now that it wasn't on fire, or at least not a wall of flame, they were able to sift through the broken pieces of wood, cracked bits of wall and ceiling, the debris becoming soggy with the water showering them. Eventually, they cleared away enough to open an escape route big enough for both to use and scaled what remained of the building, easily dodging the piles of glowing wreckage.

Outside, Bill immediately caught sight of a couple cops talking by the street, and he reached for the rifle. "Stay quiet, Pine Tree. We're not out of this completely yet."

Remaining safely behind him, Dipper's curious gaze was locked on the scene before them but he didn't look afraid, a good sign when there was nothing to be afraid of. Under the light of flickering street lamps, a manageable handful of cops were lingering, talking, reporting to one another, filing paperwork.

There were only two squad cars parked on this side of the alley, the majority of the bustling excitement likely happening on the other, the way they'd come and subsequently fled from despite the odds stacked against them.

Beckoning for Dipper to follow him, he crept toward one of the nearest cruisers. The cops were too busy yapping to notice his approach, their backs turned to them. It was… surprisingly easy, getting inside the  _unlocked_ police vehicle and finding the keys in the ignition. Stars, the Los Santos police were really something. If it wasn't outright laziness, it was stupidity.

Dipper slid over the hood, quietly settling into the passenger seat with a petrified expression, motioning first to the cops standing around, then to the vehicle itself. "Are you insane?" he hissed. "We can't steal a police car!"

"Oh, please,  _Officer Pine Tree_. Officer Cipher here just got a 10-31, and let me tell you: we're gonna bust us some crooks." And maybe run over some real cops along the way.

Dipper groaned, muttering, "I'm not sure if I want to laugh or shoot my brains out." A beat. "If you're determined to do this, let's just… get on with it, not wait around for them to notice us."

Hell yes they were doing this, and Bill was going to have a good time. Moments like this, away from the topic of homosexuality, made him feel a lot better about himself. Like being gay wasn't the end of the world.

Throwing on the lights and sirens despite Dipper's displeased protests, he brought the car into drive and began to step on the gas. That seemed to snap the cops out of their chatter, and one even moved to get in his path only to retreat once they realized if they stuck around, they'd be a pancake smear on the pavement. "Let's getting this rollin', Pine Tree! Take the rifle and get ready to blast some bitches if you got a good line up." It'd better be perfect, they weren't stocked on bullets.

"I'm not shooting anyone. They might shoot back." But he still took the rifle from him, eyes scanning over the firearm, then to the rearview mirror. Bill followed his gaze, seeing the officers disperse, the remaining cruiser flipping on the sirens and lights as well, racing to catch up to them.

"You should," Bill informed him. "They love eating bullets, the piggies they are."

Defiantly, he shook his head. "Should have taken my sister if you wanted someone to shoot them." He wished he had Mabel sometimes, he loved her enthusiasm for springing into the action headfirst. It was unfortunate her friends stole her away for this mission. There was a shuffling noise, Dipper's free hand roaming over the pockets of his combat vest. "Do you have a spare GPS or am I doing this from memory? I guess Stan and Ford have the other one."

"Memory, we're shit outta luck. Oh well." GPS or not, they knew the city well enough that they'd probably be fine. "Still might want to turn those pigs into bacon."

Dipper pointedly ignored the suggestion, treating him to a glare instead. "Okay, next question: how do you expect me to navigate us to safety if our lights and the siren are on? Also, dispatch can probably see us." He leaned forward, messing with the equipment, then turning a dial on the scanner. There was static, several voices, all talking about the two chases in progress: the getaway vehicle and the stolen police car, though occurring on opposite ends of the city. "I figured you'd want to hear about yourself, Dr. Such a Famous Criminal That the Media Can't Get Enough of Me."

"Sounds like a party," Bill responded with a smirk. He didn't care, let them come. Bill would outrun them like he'd done the other day. "Turn up the volume, doll. I want to hear how sexy I am."

"Don't need the police scanner for that," Dipper said, then looked around like he was surprised he'd said that aloud. Either way, he complied regardless and readjusted the volume to his liking, yet all Bill could think about was how he didn't have to make this gay and shuffled in his seat. "Take a right. We'll drive to Blaine County and lose them over the boundary near Cassidy Creek."

Bill followed his instructions, turning right. "We'll see about that."

"Half of the force is after Stan and Ford," he pointed out. "I don't know where they are, but it doesn't seem like they've left Los Santos, which means we'll be better off than them since you can outmaneuver a cop any day."

"I hope that fatass dies." Bill had been reminded of Stan's betrayal, and he wanted nothing more than for him to suffer.

"Stan? What's your deal with that anyway?" he asked, exasperated and throwing up his hands. "I can't believe you tried to  _shoot him_!"

A report over the scanner interrupted the conversation, a male voice identifying there was an officer down, shot by a suspect in a vehicle with striking resemblance to the one Stan drove off in and used to ditch them.

"Probably Fordsy's first kill since Lee," Bill commented with a laugh.

"Who's Lee?" he inquired and cocked his head, staring absentmindedly in the rearview mirror. "For some reason, it sounds familiar?"

He already forgot? It wasn't a surprise. "Remember that first night? There was a shootout between the Owls and Ravagers before they got you and Shooting Star. Lee's the one that died. Got an image of his corpse for proof and some threats over the whole deal from the Ravagers' leader."

Although he seemed confused at first, a haunted recognition washed over his features, and he nodded a little. "That's… uh— wait, you have the image saved to your gallery. Why?"

The kid had made his rounds when he'd gone through his phone. It was almost impressive. "I like keeping it around as Red repellent." Really, he just wanted a picture of Lee's corpse to keep for his own, nothing specific to Lee's death. It'd been a great opportunity to snap a picture, too— the gunshots had died down, and everybody had dispersed from the scene. The threats from Robbie were all just bullshit, a fabrication to cover his tracks, so he had an excuse to have it.

There was a long sigh of "Jesus Christ" and then further navigational instructions, "Take another right." Lightly, he shrugged and said, "I guess this isn't all bad, people are moving out of the way for us,  _Officer Cipher_."

They'd better! If they didn't, he wasn't against getting their plate numbers and tracking them down. With Preston in his pocket, he could do whatever the hell he wanted with law enforcement records. Speaking of which, he'd have to see about clearing the twins' before they left.

Maneuvering them through traffic by switching lanes when possible, he was glad many got the hint and steered clear. "If they don't, they're gonna die."

" _Bill_ — actually, I don't even care," Dipper said with a roll of his eyes, and Bill wondered when he'd given up on making him a better person. He didn't like that indifference. Pine Tree  _had_  to care. "Follow this road for a bit. We should be in Blaine County in about, I don't know, ten minutes? Fifteen at the most." They were chugging right along, thanks to his amazing driving skills.

Great, now he could move on to something more important. "So, Pine Tree? What you said about Stan, that asshole  _left us for dead_."

Snarkily, he replied, "Every man for himself. Can't fault him for living by your rules." Resting the rifle in his lap, Dipper leaned against the interior door, holding his face in his hands. Regret seeping into his tone, he added, "I mean, it  _was_  messed up to leave you when they had space for one of us, but I— I kind of deserved it. I hope Ford and Soos are okay."

"I hope they're dead." He paused, confused by Dipper's claim he deserved it. "You didn't do anything wrong." Well, not with the heist.

And that simple reassurance had Dipper looking at him with the most earnest expression, his doe-like eyes transparently illustrating his vulnerability. "You really think that? I messed everything up." Dipper turned away from him again. "They're probably not dead, though. I haven't heard anything over the scanner about them for a couple minutes, so I'm guessing they got away." He was likely correct, but that didn't mean Bill liked they survived. If the cops didn't kill them, he would after the careless endeavor today. Eventually, maybe.

"You didn't mess anything up," he assured him. "I still… dislike, that comment you made, but the heist isn't your fault."

"That wasn't about you!" Dipper defended, visibly tense as he checked the rearview mirror again. Bill didn't bother looking this time; he knew the police were after them, a few more squad cars added into the mix now that they weren't distracted by Stan and Ford, but he was keeping well out of range. He didn't care what Dipper had meant earlier, it didn't change what he'd  _done_. Through a frustrated exhale, an echo of an earlier reminder came, "Not everything is about you." Oh, but it  _was_. He was Bill. Why wouldn't it be?

The world revolved around him. He was the center of the universe, the sun of the Middle Ages, and Dipper couldn't deny that. "Everything is. I don't know why you'd try to take that from me, Pine Tree."

"I'm not taking anything from you," he said, then rethought his response to formulate a corrected version. "Nothing you don't want me to take, I guess. I've tried so damn hard to stay away from you, and we're leaving in like, a week. What more could you possibly want?"

"I wish you could be fucking gone sooner. I'm sick of Stan trying to make us 'get along.'" Being paired up with him was… infuriating. "I still hate you." Was trying to, more accurately. He fucking loved Dipper, and it was tearing him apart.

Although he looked skeptical, Dipper hummed a soft and sad "mm" of agreement while his palm mindlessly grazed over the barrel of the rifle, but he didn't say anything more, eyes trained out his window, flicking between the scenery and mirrors.

Bill grumbled, frustrated with the minimal reaction. He had partially been hoping Dipper would  _do more_  instead of sitting there, petting the rifle like it was some puppy.

The car jolted beneath them with a loud  _BANG_ , briefly fish-tailing as one of their tires was struck, likely by a bullet, one of the few that'd been sent in their direction. Jumping from the noise and completely rigid, Dipper whirled around in confusion while Bill kept it under control but he glanced at the band of merry cruisers after them. 

Dipper asked, "What was  _that_? Did something explode?!"

"Our tire was shot out," Bill responded smoothly. It happened, as annoying as it was, and would make the vehicle harder to control.

"Okay, okay," his voice was shaking, "I guess that means we probably can't outrun them? Uh… let me think—" Bill could see his fingers twitching on the firearm, tapping erratically, "okay, turn off the lights and go down that path, like this next turn coming up. It's a dirt road but I think it'll be alright?" He liked the sirens being on, but he obeyed, turning them off and pulling off the road onto the dirt path.

If only it wasn't night, he could switch off the headlights while he was at it. "Anything else?" he inquired to him as they rolled down the road. "This sucks, I wanted to keep this cruiser. Paint it gold."

"Nothing else," Dipper reported, then leaned forward to squint, "I think this will bring us toward the old train bridge? They probably won't follow us down this trail."

Dipper was wrong about that. Although it wasn't as many as before, specks of blue and red appeared in the mirror. Some cop had gotten wise and decided to check down this road, and the confirming report resounded over the scanner. Dipper audibly groaned. "Let's just, uh, keep going? And hope they give up and return to the main road."

"It's Los Santos, don't bet on it." Some cops were recklessly desperate to be heroes. In the succeeding moment, Bill muttered an "ah, shit" under his breath while Dipper gasped. The road ahead was blocked by a rock fall, and he knew at a glance the rubble was too numerous and large to move in time. "We might have to get out and run on foot."

"We'll get shot and die," Dipper said, strained. "And there's nowhere to go! We can't walk down the road with the police coming, and we'll never make it up the cliffs. What, next are you going to propose crossing the train bridge?"

Actually, yes. That was exactly his idea. "Trains shouldn't be running right now, Pine Tree. Seems like a good opportunity to me."

Dipper gawked. "Trains don't run on that bridge not because of the time, but because it's  _falling apart_. Do you realize how dangerous that'd be?"

He didn't care, the important thing was his good looks wouldn't be ruined by a train. "This sounds like a great idea, Pine Tree. Let's go." Bill began to exit the vehicle, heading past the collapsed rocks.

"Bill, wait!" Dipper said as he scrambled after him, rifle in his grasp and fear written all over his face as he fell into step beside him. He rambled, "I don't think we should do this. If something goes wrong or we're seen, they'll be shooting at us and we could lose our balance and Cassidy Creek is really rough and rocky—"

"Would you rather stay here and get shot up while I make a grand escape across the bridge in the light of the moon?" Seriously, Pine Tree needed to  _relax_. The bridge wouldn't be an issue.

Approaching the rickety bridge in question, his reply was breathless, anxious, "This isn't a grand escape! This is our deaths! Look at how eroded some of it is, there are cracked boards and boards missing entirely." As if he thought he didn't hear the first time, he emphasized, " _Missing_ , Bill."

Was that his issue with crossing the bridge? "So step over them. Easy fix. You should stop being a little bitch over this." And now, he was on the bridge and taking quick, easy strides. It was quite a distance across, illuminated by the moon and starlight, and he was careful to ensure he didn't misstep. He could whip out a flashlight from his combat vest, but he wanted to wait until they were clear of cops. The chase was boring when he couldn't kill people.

Looking over his shoulder, Dipper remained frozen on solid ground, grasp choking the life out of the rifle. He'd take a tentative step forward, then back again, terror apparently holding him. Bill didn't understand: did the kid intend to wait and die, why didn't he want to get away?

Further up the road but too close for comfort, the red and blue lights of the cruiser were approaching, and that seemed to be the motivation Dipper needed to get his ass in gear and start scrambling toward him. His movements were shaky and hesitant, the rifle seemingly throwing off his balance, but at least it was better than no progress whatsoever.

"The police are here," he pointed out the obvious, about to motion but his teetering balance had him rethinking that decision. Once again regaining himself, Dipper continued forward, catching up to him. They were already a quarter of the distance across, they'd be fine!

"No shit," Bill said. "There's been one trailing after us for ages now, Pine Tree. When did you become Captain Obvious?"

"Not that one," he clarified, clearing his throat and ducking his head to indicate the other direction, on the opposite end of the train bridge. "The ones over there."

Oh. Shit.

The officers behind Dipper were beginning to exit their vehicles, while the ones before them were just arriving, pulling up to the edge of the cliff. "Shit. Shit. Okay, uh…" It didn't help matters when one bold officer decided to join them on the bridge, her pistol drawn and aimed at them.

"Drop your weapon!" she yelled. "Hands in the air!"

The command caused Dipper to startle, his balance wavering as he turned around to face the officer, taking a few careful, backward steps. "Get— get back!" his voice cracked. "I'm warning you!" Bill could've fucking fallen over in surprise when Dipper,  _'I'm-not-shooting-anyone'_  Dipper, actually reciprocated the threat of aggression by raising his weapon, the rifle swaying in his grasp.

It would've been endearing if he didn't think the weight of the rifle was going to throw him back like a body flopping against a trampoline. There was a reason Ford had an equation; it wasn't solely for carrying supplies, it was for managing supplies. He slowly moved, hands resting against Dipper's hips for added support, a silent encouragement to do it.

He was close enough to hear the stutter of Dipper's breath as he ducked his head, squeezed his eyes closed, and pulled the trigger. Bill's grip tightened when the kickback happened as expected, steadying him. While he was pretty sure it had been intended as a warning shot since it was aimed at a board of the train track near the officer, the old wood gave way from the impact of the bullet and with a  _snap_ , the cop was brutally screaming as she lost her balance and went plummeting toward the rushing waters.

Well, he hadn't shot anyone, so he guessed that was true.

At the bone-chilling shriek, Dipper's eyes flew open and upon seeing the descending officer, he spun around and buried his face into his chest. "Oh my god, oh my god, o-oh my god," Dipper breathed between gulps of air, the chant muffled by his blazer, and Bill could feel him trembling wildly. "Please be okay, I hope she's okay— Bill, is she okay?"

Peering over the edge, he could tell she was definitely  _not_  okay with how she smacked into one of the rock formations below. He didn't know it was possible for a human to fold like that, bent over in the wrong direction with limbs sticking out at odd angles as a blanket of coppery redness stained the waters. Ouch, if that didn't kill her the water would. "She's fine, doll. She landed in the water and she's already making it back to the bank." Maybe she would in a few days when her body came up.

Although Dipper let out a relieved sigh, they weren't out of the woods yet with what'd happened to the cop. It'd seemed to be the catalyst needed to have the other members of the police force shooting at them now, bullets whizzing by and slicing the night air.

"Well," Bill said. "Guess we gotta jump." There weren't many options at this point now that the cops responded to their comrade being shot at. It was a little surreal that it took this long to get real action. "Ready, Pine Tree?"

"What? No!" Dipper squawked, fearfully looking beyond him, then over his shoulder, probably seeing nothing but cops with their weapons aimed at him. "We can't  _jump_! That's— I'm not doing that," he said, eyes lowering to the raging waters. "I'm not good at swimming!"

They didn't have another choice. "The cops are out for blood now," he told him. "Would you rather die cornered or jump to your freedom?"

Met with a pained, conflicted glance, Dipper seemed to understand this was the only choice they had. "Okay," he assented, conceding with a voice so small. With a hard swallow, he set down the rifle onto the tracks and continued more decisively, "I guess let's jump."

Bill didn't hesitate, removing his combat vest, then blazer, and lastly the dress vest to make himself as light as possible, his torso now in only a classy undershirt and suspenders. Heart pounding, he hopped off the edge of the bridge with a loud: "Geronimo!" The air whipping through his clothes was exhilarating, and the icy sensation of being submerged in the mountain water came too soon. Sinking into the depths, his eyes opened and he glimpsed the form of the cop. She seemed to be alive, conscious, but she wasn't making any efforts to return to the surface. Probably paralyzed. That wasn't his problem, she shouldn't have been a stupid bitch. Kicking down, he swam up toward the surface and got his head above water quickly enough to witness a sizeable splash not far from him.

It had to be Dipper, unless the cops were going for a swim with them. Bill's prediction was confirmed when he surfaced with a large gasp for air, then flailed in the water against the rapidly-moving current, searching for purchase and finding none. Well, he wouldn't either, not with a swimming technique like that. It was like he was a dying fish on land.

Swimming over, he grabbed Dipper and pulled him toward the shore. It was a struggle against the current, but nothing he couldn't handle– he'd been swimming for years with his dogs and had to rescue them from the ocean when they became stuck in the water. "Doing.. okay, ..Pine Tree?" he hummed but didn't receive a reply as Dipper continued to simply try to keep his head above water, above the little waves, and the current dragging them inward.

Fighting against the rushing water, it was a long and exhausting haul as they gradually inched closer to shore. The movement of the creek was brutal, the depth insurmountable. No words were exchanged between them since both were merely trying to keep their mouth above the waterline and retain oxygen in their systems, though that was difficult through the rapids.

And finally,  _finally_ , they were close enough to a rocky shoreline bordering a dirt road where they could drag themselves from the dark stream. Bill pulled himself up first, then helped Dipper do the same. Watching as he didn't even try to stay upright, Dipper started coughing water, hacking violently until the heaving produced nothing, then flopped to the ground in a fatigued puddle.

Bill was faring just a little better, though he did cough up some of the foul-tasting liquid. He had hardly noticed he ingested it. He just knew the dive made him feel ALIVE, and that had him buzzing with endorphins. "Let's do that again!"

"Are you kidding?" Dipper panted, chest heaving as his gaze flicked from the starry sky to Bill. "Is this one of your weird jokes?"

"No!" Bill just had a hell of a good time. How could he not, with the wind against his body and the excitement that came from risking death?

"You actually— actually  _enjoyed_ that?" he questioned, then thought about it. "I suppose it was kind of an adrenaline rush, but that doesn't mean I want to do it again." His eyes closing, Dipper mused, "Really went out with a bang on my last heist, I guess. That was… intense, everything tonight."

Bill chuckled, dragging himself closer. "Want to go out with a literal  _bang_? We could make it more intense, Pine Rose." In more than one way, considering Bill was proposing sex. How could he resist his  _erectus manius_ , especially after jumping off a bridge? He leaned down over the puzzled Dipper, capturing his lips.

He could feel the compliant reaction, the urgent albeit questioning whisper of "lube?" against his mouth, and then all pleasure faded when Dipper pushed him back, but not forcefully. His eyes were wide, hurt lingering in their depths. "Wait, I… I forgot this wasn't something we do anymore."

"We've never had actual sex before," Bill reminded him, brushing off Dipper's skeptical look at the wording. "That can change. Take off your pants."

"Not  _that_ ," Dipper mumbled, flushing lightly. "I meant being friends with benefits. We're… not, and you said you hated me. I don't want to make this harder for you."

What did he mean? "I'm already hard for you." Rock hard— well, he could be in a minute. He was ready to fuck Dipper senseless, right here, right now.

A bit worriedly, he said, "No, Bill. Not until we figure this out, because you'll probably regret it if we do something with how you..." Dipper trailed off, eyes becoming glassy. Shaking his head, he went on softly, "Look, I just don't want to be the reason you want to die. And also, my pants—" he laughed weakly and motioned to his soaked skinny jeans, "are probably never coming off. Ever."

"You're killing my arousal," Bill stated with some frustration. Why was he being so hesitant? It wasn't like he didn't want it too. "Let me rip those pants off, regrets or not we can still have a good time tonight."

Shaking his head, he reaffirmed with more force, "We're not doing anything until we figure out the mess that is this." He motioned between them. "Us. Because, uh, Stan said some things to me—"

"Stan's a bit old for you, Pine Tree. You shouldn't let him try to be your sugar daddy." Bill huffed, hands sliding to cup the crotch of Dipper's pants, but the response was less than satisfactory when Dipper kicked him away, scooting back to defensively tuck his legs in front of him.

He let out a small growl of annoyance, tempted to forcibly rip off his clothes and take him. "Let me fuck you, Pine Tree! Don't be so damn difficult, cutie. You wouldn't like it if I had to fuck you raw."

"I seriously doubt you have lube anyway," he mentioned with a sideways glance.

"We don't need lube to have a nice time. With how wet you are right now, I bet I'd just slide in."

"Because you're small enough to make that work?" Dipper snapped irritably, his patience seemingly diminished. "Besides, what happened to being stressed out over your sexuality? Two dudes having sex is pretty gay."

Bill paused. This was something he tried to forget, but it seemed Dipper wouldn't let him. "It's not gay if it's physical. Only if you have feelings. Don't be a fag, cutie."

Breath catching, Dipper stared at him for several moments. "So that was why— I mean, Stan said…" he tripped over his words, fidgeting, looking somehow insanely uncomfortable yet his eyes were bright and big. "Holy shit, you  _do_ have feelings for me, then. That night at Raton Canyon—"

"No." The swift and stern response had Dipper from elated to crestfallen in mere seconds. He might be totally in love with Dipper, but that didn't mean he was going to freely admit it. "You should stop listening to Stan so much, Pine Tree. The guy tried to kill you today."

"It's not just that. It's everything that's happened lately, you trying to hurt yourself over being gay, saying I was the reason you wanted to die. It's— you… you're into me, aren't you?" The question sounded genuinely fragile, as if he didn't actually know and was fishing for an improbable confirmation, like he couldn't believe it.

Bill couldn't believe it either, but he knew it was true. He was into the damn kid, whether he liked it or not. "Well, you're not wrong." Now Bill could die in shame. Where was his gun when he needed it?

Although Dipper was about to speak, he closed his mouth again and expelled a long exhale, running a hand through his damp hair, deep in thought. He literally had just received a confession of affection from the most handsome and badass motherfucker around, the amazing  _Bill fucking Cipher_ , and all he could do was sigh and overthink this? It was going nothing like it did in that soap opera with Mister McMan and Lady Ladington. Where was the 'I love you too!' and the 'aw's of the audience? He wanted his goddamn money back, this was a ripoff.

When the verbal response finally came, it was far less than what he'd hoped for.

"Oh, that's…" a strained hum as he tried to come up with the correct word, "interesting? I guess I didn't really think— I  _knew_ , since Stan mentioned it, well kind of. I wanted to talk to you about it but couldn't because there was never a good time, and it's still hard to believe, y'know?"

"Are you going to let me fuck you or are you just going to lay there like a limp fish?" Bill abruptly demanded, uninterested in his rambling. If he wanted that, he'd try to go after Mabel.

Jolting upright to look at him with a startled expression, Dipper asked, "Wait, were you only saying that before? To sleep with me?"

"No," he relaxed again, gaze softening, "if that was my plan I wouldn't want to cut my own throat right now." It'd be so easy if he had a weapon. What, did he need to find a sharp rock?

"People always say confessing makes it easier but wow," he breathed and casted his gaze downwards, "it feels more complicated than ever. Seriously, though, don't slit your throat. Is it still because you think being gay is a sin or whatever?"

Bill's finger ran horizontally along his windpipe, smirking as Dipper made a face. It was almost cute how he reacted. "It's a mortal sin that has plagued my body." Death could fix him, but then what would Dipper do without him?

"Don't be melodramatic, it's not worth getting all freaked out over when you don't participate in your religion as far as I can tell."

"Hey, I'm a good Christian boy. I go to church every Sunday. I've prayed for mercy on your gay soul, and you're still here." He was glad of that, he liked his Pine Tree. He just didn't like loving him.

"I'm  _bisexual_ ," he corrected, "and you absolutely do not go to church every Sunday, you big liar." The sentence finished with Dipper shooting him a skeptical look and a faint smile. "Be a good Christian boy and practice what you preach: hypocrisy."

Bisexual his ass. "When's the last time you slept with a girl?" he challenged, snickering. "Never? That's what I thought,  _Gayson_." Dipper was so gay, Bill was sure he pisssed rainbows.

Cheeks taking on a reddish hue, Dipper huffed, "I didn't need to punch you in the face to already know I'd have a hell of a good time doing it. Same deal."

"Maybe if we were doing a little more BDSM, doll. You punch me in the face, I tie you up and fuck you senseless. until you're pleading for permission to release.." They'd both like it. Dipper would moan, getting off on being completely under Bill's control. Bill could almost taste his sweet arousal already.

"I feel like we're getting off topic," Dipper said, scraping his foot along the dirt mindlessly. "So about this… feelings stuff, maybe we should talk about that. Kind of seems important."

Important? No, not really. Not enough to warrant a discussion. "Nah, I'll just stab myself until it bleeds out of me."

"Is it going to be too hard for you to have this conversation? I guess I get it, we can just…" he seemed lost, disappointed, "forget about it, if that'd be better for you. I still don't want you hurting yourself over it."

Bill shuffled, looking at Dipper with curious eyes. "Why do you care so much about this?" He knew their relationship wasn't on the best terms, despite their interactions, and he couldn't fathom why Dipper would be interested in discussing Bill's shitty feelings.

The question elicited first a tilting of his head, as if he didn't understand, then he laughed with a hint of self-consciousness attached, shifting where he sat. "I keep telling you how much I miss having you around, miss just.. I don't know, being with you? Talking to you? Why  _wouldn't_ I want to repair our relationship? We're the Los Santos  _power couple_ , Bill." It was a joke, as indicated by the lopsided grin, but it faded shortly after when he seemed to remember something. "But… then again, it doesn't matter if Mabel and I are going to be leaving the Owls soon."

"There's still time to change your mind," he reminded him. "Stan would take you back." That old fear of being abandoned and alone had returned. He  _needed_  Pine Tree in his life, he wanted him so badly. Having this decision beyond his control was producing discomfort.

He shrugged. "It's not a matter of if I  _could_  join. Stan said he'd be happy to have Mabel and me, assuming tonight didn't ruin that. It's more… an issue of you, if  _you'll_ be comfortable with me being around because I— well, you know how you said I'm why you want to die? Yeah, that."

Ah. Well, that was complicated when Bill both hated himself and Dipper, except he also loved Dipper and wanted to fuck him. "You're not why I want to die."

"Is there somebody else?" Dipper asked, probably aiming for humorously dramatic but falling short with a scratch of his neck. "I'm so awkward at this. Sorry. Uh, why do you want to die? I'm guessing it's still over being Christian and not... heterosexual, but seriously— you've never played by the rules a day in your life. Why does  _this_  bother you?"

"Why wouldn't I be bothered by this? By  _me_? I shouldn't have feelings for  _anyone_ , let alone another male, and it's so hard to squash it when you're over there, looking all cute and shit." He hated him. Not really. He loved him, so much it hurt.

Dipper fucking  _blushed_  at that and struggled to bite back a smile, the reaction somehow different than the other times he'd seen it with the way he rubbed at his arms, squirmed lightly. Looking so wonderfully flustered and so damn happy. "Why would you want to squash it?" he asked once he'd seemingly found his voice again, peering at him with the sweetest expression. He didn't understand why he wouldn't want to, it wasn't like Dipper gave any sign of reciprocating the feelings.

Bill wanted to exterminate it like a bug. He hated feeling so deeply. "There's no point in feeling like this if it's one sided." Considering throughout the conversation, Dipper hadn't indicated he felt similarly.

With a confused, choked noise, Dipper blinked at him. "But it's not? I thought you knew that."

"You just said 'that's interesting' and that was it." It hadn't been reassuring at all, and Bill glanced at Dipper.

"You've been teasing me about crushing on you for like… the whole time we've known each other," he said with a tiny laugh, more giddy than guilty. "Not that I've been into you  _that_  long, but ever since that one night, after the museum heist? I thought you had me figured out."

He wished. "You weren't in the best place immediately following that heist, cutie." He had been in a panic, broken up after seeing the dead guard.

"I know," he admitted, the giddiness draining from him, "and I'm still not in the best place. See, I found out a while ago through Stan, but never brought it up because you weren't in a good place either, and I thought if I told you… it'd make it worse." Tentatively, he asked, "Did this make it worse?"

Bill wasn't sure. For once, he wasn't filled with an immense self-hatred, so there was that. "No," he said. "Not yet. I'm… okay." For the time being, at least. Maybe once he was alone he'd lose it. "Hey, cutie?"

His attention snapped from their surroundings back to Bill. "Yes?"

"You're my favorite." A simple statement, but true. Dipper was his favorite person.

There was that gorgeous blush again. Stars, he liked this kid a lot. Fuck being straight, it wasn't worth it if it meant he couldn't get some of that sweet ass.

Throat working silently with no noise coming out, he finally squeaked, "Y-you can't just…  _say_ things like that, dude! Like, I don't even know how to respond."

Bill was a grand romantic, he could do whatever he wanted. "I just did, doll. What're you going to do about it?"

"Certainly not try to run away or fight you, since that ended with my hands bound with your bowtie and an onslaught of your  _gross_  ravishing," Dipper teased. "I'll just, ah.. take this opportunity to ask what you want to do about all this. I've kind of had some reservations myself, so it's fine if you don't want to… y'know,  _do_ anything, especially with the whole religious hang ups."

"What does that mean?" Bill demanded, tone becoming defensive as he leaned over Dipper. How could Dipper insult him, how  _dare_ he? "You had  _reservations about dating me_?"

"Well, maybe?" He shrunk down at the sudden force of the question, then tried to shove Bill back, Dipper's expression flattening when he didn't budge an inch. Dryly, he asked, "Could you not be Mister Intimidating right now? Threateningly hovering over me isn't helping."

He didn't care if he was being intimidating. "I can't believe you, you didn't want to date me? You were hesitant? What the fuck, Mason? Am I not good enough for you, Mister Mayor's boy,  _Mister Senator's son_? I'm  _amazing_ , thank you very much."

Appearing to be at his wit's end, he cried out, "Stop thinking it's all about you!" Bill was surprised to see he was shaking again, but perhaps it was as much from frustration as it was from being wet and in the cold air. There was a deep breath, and another, and finally he recollected himself to say, "My parents died, and I'm still struggling with that. It's like— every single day, I think about it or have nightmares, and grieve," he listed, sounding less annoyed with Bill and more annoyed with himself, "and it's just not getting better. I've been so caught up in that lately, and it makes me feel like I'm too much of a mess myself to even think about being in a relationship with somebody else."

"Pine Tree. We've been in a relationship for  _months_." He pointed to the ring Dipper still wore. "We were even engaged!" Kinda. He was pretty sure Dipper had broken it off, but still. They had been once.

"The engagement was this stupid joke, though," Dipper reminded him, and as he spoke his eyes trailed to the ring, holding it up for examination. "We weren't actually engaged, but.. I guess I always thought our relationship was more casual? At least until you told me you wanted to be exclusive friends with benefits forever." He chuckled, shuffling his weight. "Then, it did sound like a relationship with a subsequent breakup a while ago. Really hurt, so it kind of felt like one too."

Bill's laugh was short. "I don't do well with being… alone, or left. Being by myself is the worst feeling, cutie. Being exclusive without sex is basically a marriage though, if you want to look into doing that again."

"What's being exclusive with sex called?" Dipper asked, the smallest of smiles on his lips and the color in his cheeks returning while he shyly ducked his head to hide it. "I think I want that. If… if you do too, I mean."

"'Sexclusive," he answered with a grin, planting a kiss to Dipper's lips but could feel him laughing into the contact. Oh, he'd  _love_  that, he'd been waiting patiently for so long. "I definitely do."

"That's an awful title. How about something more descriptive and accurate to our individual situations? Like, oh I don't know," Dipper hummed, "heterosexual life partners?"

Bill chuckled. "Hetero means one, together. Pretty much the same thing as exclusive, right? And our relationship is going to be  _hella_  sexy, hence sexual."

"So, uh," he ran a hand through his hair. "Whew, I guess we're in a romantic relationship. This feels… literally no different and is super underwhelming." Finally! Dipper noticed it too. Soap operas needed to get their shit together. "Are you going to be okay? With.." his tone was thoughtful, hands motioning vaguely, "this and your upbringing?"

He'd try to make it work. He'd been waiting to snatch the Pine Tree away for  _ages_. "Yeah, it'll be fine." Probably. He'd try to be, it'd definitely be a change from being straight like he always wanted to be. He wasn't…  _completely_  okay, but he was gradually doing better. Coming to terms with it would take a while. The desire to kill himself was gone, at least.

"I said it before, but I'm here for you." A shrug. "If you need it."

"I shouldn't." He kissed his nose before he moved to rise from the ground, muscles screaming out in protest. The swim against the rapids had really taken a toll on him. He wished he could put his jacket around Dipper, but it was lost to the water, and he had many more where that came from so it wasn't worth retrieving. "We should probably get back to the penthouse, cutie."

"Yeah, Stan said to meet him back there when—" he stopped abruptly, then continued with a miserable groan of Stan's name, throwing his head back to demonstrate his distress. "Okay, small problem. I may have forgotten that we're not supposed to date each other, and since I'm maybe going to join the Owls…"

That stupid rule wasn't going to stop him. "We don't have to tell them it's official, and I don't think they'll question us being affectionate with one another since we've done that before."

Considering that for a few moments, he slowly nodded, rising to his feet as well and offering a hesitant smile. "Yeah, I guess it'll be alright. We'll just.. pretend we're still friends with benefits. I guess we're still  _technically_  friends with benefits, but with more feelings involved this time."

* * *

After they'd walked up to the main road, it wasn't long before a cab drove by and they were able to flag it down, telling the driver where they needed to go in exchange for some soaked money. The drive was comfortable, they'd fallen into old banter, and it was natural, easy. It was them.

Bill knew they were meant for each other, so of course it would be nothing short of amazing.

As they filed out of the cab and entered the complex, Dipper laughed beside him. "I still can't believe you said 'geronimo' before jumping off of the bridge. Seriously, dude?"

"What?" Bill glanced at him. "It's a perfectly valid exclamation!" It was also pretty fun to say.

"No," the laughter continued, "nobody says that around here. It's like you're one of those weirdos from  _Miami_ or something," he teased, nudging Bill. Oh stars, how he'd missed this. He'd missed this so badly.

But it wasn't  _weird_ , it was an acceptable term. Dipper was the weird one. "You San Andreans have no class," he told him with amusement. "What the hell would you yell?"

"We San Andreans don't feel the need to yell anything because we're fierce enough as it is."

"Yeah, so fierce you swoon at a simple compliment." Although he was about to go inside the penthouse, Dipper stopped him wordlessly, a pained expression on his face.

In a hushed tone, his eyes flicked from the door to Bill, "Wait, do you think Stan is going to be mad? Earlier, he was… really scary, when he was yelling and— and I can't believe he basically threw you out of the car." Scuffing his foot against the carpet, he asked sadly, "What if he doesn't want me to join anymore?"

As much as he hated Stan right now, he wasn't concerned about Dipper's place in the crew. "It won't be a problem, sweetheart. Are you ready to go in?" He hardly had a chance to continue talking when the door was thrown open, and the broad form of Stan glowered at them.

"Are ya two ladies done gossipin' in the hall?" he demanded, and Bill could hear the anger radiating in his voice. The distress written onto his face again, Dipper flinched away from Stan, teetering on his heels almost as if he wanted to make a break for it, or maybe hide behind him. He couldn't tell, but he was definitely uncomfortable and afraid.

"Stan," Bill responded. "How's Fordsy and Fatso?" He knew Dipper was giving him The Look, the one that screamed 'do you  _want_ us to die?!' but didn't care. Seeing it about thrice today had desensitized him.

The expression Stan wore was murderous. "Inside. Now."

"Okay, sure," Dipper immediately agreed and scooted past Stan, probably wanted to slip right into his room, but Stan caught him by his plaid collar and held the kid in place while he tried to wriggle free. "Hey, man! Let me go!"

"Dipper," Stan's voice was firm, releasing his shirt. "I'm not done with either of ya. That shit ya pulled on the heist is something I can't stand for. Taking off your headsets after I explicitly told ya  _not to_  was incredibly dangerous and stupid. Ya could've gotten everyone fucking killed, and for what? Some bullshit squabble?"

A guilty expression darkening his features, Dipper looked downward. "Yeah, I know." There was a miserable sigh. "We're really sorry about that, and we won't fight on another heist or mess up that badly again." Maybe Dipper wouldn't, but Stan trying to act tough wouldn't stop Bill. Fuck him.

"Are you done yet?" Bill inquired. "I figured you'd be more concerned over Fordsy's fucked up face before bitching about some stupid headsets." It was a cocky thing to say, sure, but what was the worst that could happen? Stan was between him and Dipper, so he wasn't going to be a victim of that kid's sharp elbows. Not this time. Not again.

Stan snarled. "Don't talk about him, Bill. If it weren't for  _you_  he wouldn't have been hurt. We wouldn't have been left in an alley shootout if you hadn't taken those things off." Boohoo.

"Uh, he didn't mean that," Dipper interjected, probably trying to redirect Stan's anger away from him. "Look, we just… won't do that. Our headsets will stay on the whole time in the future." Bill shot him a glare, annoyed Dipper had interjected. That was  _his_  spotlight.

"They better. Now, moving on: where did ya put my rifle, Bill?" Bill just shrugged in response. "The fuck does that mean?"

Bill glanced at Dipper. "I gave it to Pine Tree. Ask him."

Somehow, Dipper appeared even guiltier as he rocked back and forth on his heels, hands clasped behind him. "Cassidy Creek?" he eventually replied, voice a squeak, as if it was a suggestion and not an answer.

" _What?_ " Stan's voice boomed, frustration lacing every word. Bill didn't get what the problem was. It wasn't like Stan didn't have spare pieces lying around. "What were you thinking?"

Although startled, he seemed a pinch offended by the accusatory tone Stan threw at him, and his voice cracked, "It was either there or in the hands of the cops, what was your preference? We had to  _jump_  from the Calafia Train Bridge, what happened to your rifle wasn't high on the priorities."

"Ya wouldn't have had to do that if ya followed the heist plan," Stan snapped.

He bristled. "You didn't  _have_  to ditch us in the middle of a firefight!"

"After  _you_  fucked up, I wasn't going to sit around with injured. You should be grateful I lended you two that gun in the first place. I heard about what happened to that cop on the bridge."

The panic ignited in Dipper's gaze, lessening as Bill chuckled. "Ah, yes. She had a tumble but she was fine." He shot a look at Stan, they didn't need to go into how she died.

"I didn't mean to do that," he added, kicking a foot sheepishly. "I thought she'd leave us alone after the warning shot," he dropped to a murmur, "I didn't think it'd cause her to fall."

Stan glanced between them, scowling. "Well. It did. The cops are pissed about that. Don't pull any of this shit again, ya dumbasses." An order he wouldn't remember, not that he cared to.

Watching Stan stalk off, he took the chance to grab Dipper's hand and drag him toward his room. "Come on, cutie!"

Although he trailed after and didn't pull his hand away, he asked, "Oh, so  _now_ I'm reinvited in your room?"

"Do you not want to be in here?" he asked once they were inside. "I thought you'd be happy to have a real bed again."

"Yeah, I want to be in here," he confirmed with a nod, starting to struggle with getting his still-damp clothes peeled from his body. "But just earlier today, you were pissed at me and probably didn't want me near you or your room."

Bill shrugged, removing the remainder of his own clothes, quite aware of how it seemed to attract Dipper's gaze to him in fleeting glances. "Hey cutie, you wanna bone?  _Consummate_?" Bill asked teasingly, though the heist left him pretty drained.

Flushing at his behavior being brought to attention, he mumbled a huffy, "I missed your tattoos, okay?" Of course he did, they were stunning tattoos. He was Bill, a sex  _god_. A noise of irritation escaped Dipper, tugging uselessly at the skinny jeans as he attempted to free himself from the confines of the garment, finally making headway as they were pulled from his form. "And no," he replied, collapsing onto the bed, "too tired after everything tonight." Thank the stars for that, he was exhausted.

"I'll fuck you in the morning," he murmured as he joined him on the bed, wrapping his arms around his smaller frame.

"We shouldn't rush, it'd be better to get a feel for this relationship before we dive into stuff, but it is kind of like we never stopped doing this," he pointed out, nuzzling into Bill's shoulder. "I know it's been like… a week. It sucked being without you, dude." In his embrace, he could feel Dipper tense suddenly. "What if we fight and break up or something? Stan probably has that rule about crew members dating for a reason." Bill rolled his eyes.

"Not gonna happen, cutie. Also, fuck Stan and his gay rules. He tried to kill us." It was as simple as that– Dipper really needed to stop overthinking everything.

"It's us. We seriously fight like, nonstop."

It didn't matter too much. "That's called 'marriage', honey."

"Wow," it was a quiet, affectionate groan that hid the laugh underneath. "I guess since we're actually dating I'm never going to hear the end of your 'marry me, Pine Tree' speeches."

"Oh, cutie. It's not a speech if it becomes reality, it's merely a truth. You love it." He shuffled, using his arm to prop him up as he kissed his neck.

Enjoying the physical affection, Dipper wordlessly offered more skin to him, head tilting back submissively, that alone enough to encourage Bill to press a few more kisses along his throat.

"I'm not accepting any proposals from you," he warned, "not.. like, right now, anyway. I guess we'll see how it goes, because I'm still waiting for it to register, y'know? That we're really together? It's unreal, and I never thought you'd be the type to want a commitment with how much you claim to sleep around." None of his sleeping around had been stable, and he had… put up with it that way. He never liked it, being alone, and the one night stands had been all he could get given his lifestyle.

"You sure you don't want to?" he hummed. "We could consummate the marriage almost immediately."

"I'm  _sure_ ," he said with a laugh, curling back into him. "Let's go to sleep. I'm pretty exhausted." Bill huffed softly but complied, nosing along Dipper's neck as he breathed his vanilla scent and settled in to rest.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): brief violence, slurs, sexual content, internalized homophobia (manifesting as a sexual fantasy).

Bill grumbled as he stirred from his sleep, eyes blinking open to bright light streaming in from the skylight and splashing upon the sitting, hunched form of Dipper. Hands gripping the sheets, he was shaking, and Bill's immediate conclusion was that he had another nightmare from the raspy inhales and pained sounds he made.

It was a pathetic sight, and in a sense irritating– weren't these  _done_  with already? He hadn't been tormented by one in a while, and it was strange it'd happen now because they were officially together, and being together meant Bill made everything better. "Cutie," he hummed, guessing he could've been less abrupt since it startled Dipper. "What're you doing?"

"Dying," he wheezed, shallow gasps for air following as his hand tightened on his chest, gripping clumps of his pajama shirt, "I'm pretty sure I'm dying." It seemed he'd been doing this for a while since his voice was hoarse, a strained warble.

"Well, don't do that." He forced himself up, looking at Dipper, who was now doing slightly better than he had been. The shuddering breaths had eased, and he was gradually uncurling, flopping back and pulling Bill down beside him in bed into the soft, starry sheets. "Bad dream? What about?" Like he didn't already know. They both knew.

"Had a dream I was dating you."

Even after waking from a nightmare in the midst of a panic attack, he still had to be a sassy shit. Typical, and Bill loved it. Loved his faint but sly grin as he nuzzled in closer, then mumbled more seriously about it being 'the usual.'

It was a shame the nightmare had to put a damper on a peaceful and sublime morning. Bill felt rested, the sun was lighting the room in warm hues, the penthouse seemed quiet beyond their bedroom, they were  _dating_ , all was well. Better than that, in fact, because Bill couldn't believe he had such a sweetheart all to himself, his heterosexual life partner boyfriend.

After they'd fallen into silence for a few moments, Bill commented, "I thought you were over those."

"What?" It was almost flat, moderately surprised and amusingly moody. An eyebrow raising, Dipper frowned and said, "Uh, no? They never stopped. I mean, briefly, when I was taking the medication that made me feel nothing, but other than that I've always had them. Ever since… um, yeah." An awkward cough tumbled from him and his trembling words tapered off.

Bill paused in confusion. If he kept having them, how did Bill not know? It wasn't possible, they were always together. "I haven't seen you have one in a long ass time, Pine Tree."

"We haven't been sleeping together, this has been the first night in like… a week, or something," he pointed out. "And before that, I… I kind of tried to avoid waking you whenever I'd have one."

"Why would you do that?" Bill's voice grew demanding. "Cutie, I can cure it. With myself." Bill fixed everything, it'd be foolish if Dipper didn't let him help.

"Because you don't get enough sleep as it is." Skeptical, he asked, "What does that mean? How are  _you_ able to cure this?" Dipper narrowed his eyes and muttered, "If you're going to go into your whole 'I'm-a-doctor' spiel, I know that only applies to astronomy and astrophysics. The proof is less than fifteen feet away." There was a weak, halfhearted motion toward where his degrees were framed on the bedroom wall next to his beloved cutout and cast pictures. "You're not a psychologist."

"I  _am_  a doctor," he said. "And as a doctor of the glorious Stars, I can say with certainty that I can cure you with how  _great_  I am. My mere presence should cleanse you of your terrors."

Dipper looked confused, and he opened his mouth to speak a few times but changed his mind, settling on a dry, "Really. As two educated adults, are we actually having this discussion?"

"You know I'm correct, sugar." How could he not be? It was him, and he was never wrong. Unless it came to scones, those fuckers.

There was a long moment in which he did nothing but stare at him, an displeased expression resting on his face. "No, I don't think you've ever been more incorrect. If all I need is you in my life, there's one  _little_  problem with that—" Dipper huffed, "I'm  _still having nightmares_ , you star-obsessed dork."

Clearly, that wasn't the fault of his theory. "That's simply because you haven't spent enough time around me, doll. Cuddle up."

"I'm fine with cuddling," and as if to demonstrate, he shuffled closer to place his head on his chest, "it's just… you can't expect that to cure everything. Besides, we already spend a lot of time together, so if that was going to work, it probably would've by now."

"We're not spending enough time together," he deduced as he nuzzled the top of his head. "We need to be with each other more." All day, all night. Every day. Dipper wouldn't leave his sight.

That was apparently the right thing to say since it motivated Dipper to squirm on top of him, but his gaze was critical. "When?" he asked, exasperated. "When would we even have time for it? We sleep together and spend all day together. Unless you're doing a job, we're basically never apart."

That was simple. "You piss, don't you?"

An instant look of horror washed over him, and he shook his head. "Oh my god, no. No way, man. We're not doing  _that_ together."

Why not? It wasn't anything they hadn't seen before. Besides, it could be for their well-being. "What if you get a kidney stone, cutie? What'll you do without me?"

He blinked. "Uh, I guess get someone else to drive me to the hospital instead? Mabel has a license, and—"

"You have a criminal record, sweetheart. You can't go to the hospital." Although it seemed he was puzzled briefly, it faded into a flicker of recognition. It was surprising he jumped to that conclusion. Dipper had been involved in multiple heists after all.

"Oh, right," he glanced away, "I forgot things are... different now, but in that case, I don't know." A shrug. "Cry until you get me morphine?"

Bill hummed. "I'd need to go into the bathroom you're in to do that, sugar." Dipper wouldn't be going far with a kidney stone. The kid wasn't built to endure pain.

"Look, we can deal with that if it happens. How did we get on this topic anyway?" he questioned, then dragged a hand through his hair with a groan as he seemed to remember. "Just being with you isn't going to fix PTSD, Bill." But it  _was_. Bill was about to tell him that, and he would've if Dipper hadn't spoke first. "Okay, do you remember when you told me this wasn't a war movie? Well, it's not a romantic comedy either. The power of love isn't going to make everything fine."

"Is this not romantic?" Bill asked. He couldn't understand how he wasn't being a little romantic, seeing as he was trying to look after  _his_  Dipper. "I can be more romantic, cutie. You'll swoon under my hard, hot loving."

It was almost amazing how he could feel Dipper go rigid on top of him. "Alright, well," he awkwardly coughed, "this suddenly got super uncomfortable."

He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? "Maybe you should stop clenching so damn much, it's no wonder you're uncomfortable."

A little smile played on his lips and he murmured, "So make me more comfortable. Honestly, I'm really sore from yesterday."

"Is that a proposition?" He couldn't tell, but their discussion made him want to believe Dipper was looking for sex.

"Depends on what you're offering?"

"Five dollars." That was probably the amount Dipper got as a weekly allowance from his parents, considering they weren't as wealthy as Bill's, a thought he liked to entertain.

"Hey, I have expensive tastes and don't come cheap. Always knew you couldn't put your money where your mouth was," he teased, sitting up to straddle him. "About the nightmares… I guess if you still think a new medication will help, we could try that?"

Bill chuckled, kissing his chin, and Dipper made a happy hum at the affection. "I think a new medication would do you just fine, cutie." He was adorable, trying to straddle him. Bill almost wanted to thrust upwards to see what he'd do.

"Still not letting you into the bathroom with me, though," he said with a gentle laugh, one of his hands beginning to drift over Bill's stomach and chest, tracing idly along the tattoos. It was like a small flame was on the tip of his fingers, his senses on edge from the simple motion since he'd missed being touched like this.

"Heartbreaker," Bill responded. "I wanted to challenge you to a pissing race." Not really, that was disgusting. He had standards and could come up with better date nights than that.

Through his laughter, he managed to say, "Gross, no."

Bill grinned at him, finding the similar reaction funny. "Would you have rather a contest to see who can piss the longest distance?" he asked, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

Making a face at the new suggestion, Dipper said, "Stop."

Taking the chance to tease him, he said, "Hm, okay. Not a fan of having fun, I see."

Repositioning himself with a seemingly intentional grind, he asked quizzically, "I'm sitting on your lap and the most fun thing you can think of is having a pissing contest?"

"I've been wanting to pound your tiny ass but you're clenching too much. Can't even finger a lady like you right without breaking ya." If he tried, he imagined it'd be quite bloody and hard to penetrate.

Color draining from his face at that, he looked downward, hand slowing to a stop. "Bill, I'm… I'm not a lady," he said quietly. "Are you doing okay? With being together for real, I mean?"

Was he okay? Bill was trying to be, though he knew he wasn't one hundred percent perfect. "Fine," he answered. "Not suicidal yet." Big eyes glittering with concern had a small laugh escaping him. "You're cute, Pine Rose." Especially when he was worried.

Even more so when he was flustered, the creeping shy smile a giveaway. "Thanks," he said, leaning down to quickly kiss him. "Just know I'm always here for you, and I'm glad you're not suicidal." Losing the serious tone, Dipper playfully murmured, "You're too handsome to die young. ...Using 'young' a bit loosely here, but yeah."

"Are you making fun of my age?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow at him. He wasn't fucking old.

Brushing their noses together, he gave him another chaste kiss, and separated with a cheeky, "Maybe." Bill would take that as a 'yes', confirming that he was.

"Don't be a little shit, my dear."

Sticking his pink tongue out at him in a stunningly cute display of mock defiance, he retorted, "Too late."

* * *

It was impressive, the fact it'd taken Mabel an hour and forty-five minutes to run out of things to talk about. He and Dipper had barely gotten a word in during the drive, the droning of Mabel's rambling from the backseat filling the vehicle with noise throughout the ride.

First, it'd been her day. They had to hear about her day, about the television shows she watched, about her stupid friends texting her images of cats this afternoon. Next, it'd been all about her girlfriend, blah blah Pacifica this, blah Pacifica that. Third, she asked a barrage of questions about firearms and ammunition—the reason Ford had sent them on this supply run to begin with—but never gave him a chance to respond to any of her inquiries before piling on more. And lastly, she'd went on a twenty minute tangent about how she was hungry and what she was hungry for, as well as where the best restaurants of Los Santos were and a story about how she'd found a twist tie in her food once.

At several points throughout the one-sided conversation, he'd attempted to turn up his pop music to drown her out, but then she'd just gotten  _louder_. It wasn't worth it.

And now… now it was finally over. Thank the stars. If she talked more, he might need to get a muzzle.

"I thought that'd never end," he commented. "Almost two fucking hours."

Looking away from the passenger window, Dipper glanced at him, tilting his head. "Hm? Two hours? Oh, are we almost to the ammunition store? I wish Ford hadn't sent us to the one in Paleto Bay."

Bill agreed, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Apparently this was the only store that carried everything they needed and it was at a supposedly great price, as if they were on a budget. "We'll be there in a couple minutes."

"Okay," he said, then reached forward to mess with the radio, switching through the stations. "That's good, my legs are getting sore."

Mabel giggled in the back, but after listening to her talk all evening, he was tired of hearing her. "I bet that's not the only thing sore!" Bill glanced at her, then back at Dipper, who looked perplexed and let out a 'what?' at her suggestive remark.

"Are you actually going to come out of the vehicle to stretch?" Bill asked him, knowing how lazy he could get at times.

"Yeah, probably," he replied with a shrug. "Wait, why wouldn't I?"

Bill stared at him, careful to pay some attention to the road so they didn't swerve and crash. "It's you." He wasn't motivated to get out, that was for sure.

"I'm not missing an opportunity to stretch by fetchingly draping myself over the hood of your car," Dipper snickered. "It'll make this more exciting, watching you try to focus on purchasing ammunition while you're kind of turned on."

"Y'know how easily I could turn that into fucking your sweet ass on my hood, while Shooting Star and the cashier watch?" It'd be quite a sight to see. The cashier might even grab a camera to save for later.

He went redder than a cherry, and Mabel let out a 'woot' noise. "You two are so cute together! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" It was like a sexual version of Stan's 'fight' chant.

Dipper choked. "Okay, uh, we're not doing that. Just to be clear." Gaze drifting between Mabel and Bill, he started tentatively, "But I did have something I wanted to tell you, Mabel. It's about me and Bill, we're… in a relationship now, like a romantic one." Hurriedly, he added, "Please don't tell Stan or Ford, we're trying to keep it a secret to avoid problems with that."

"You're  _dating_?" Tensing, Dipper appeared to be preparing for the worst, then relaxed when Mabel was beaming at him, supportive. "That's so cute! When did it happen? Do I hear wedding bells in your future? Have you gotten it on yet?" Her eyes widened with fascination, and Dipper was back to sitting rigidly at the influx of personal questions. "Can I see you kiss?" Bill wasn't opposed to that, but he knew Dipper might have a moral hang up or two if things became heated.

"Uh, Mabel? You've already seen us kiss," he reminded her. "It's not going to be any different than it was that time."

"It's cuter now!" was her insistent objection.

"Anyway," he moved on, "we talked about it after the heist yesterday and decided to see how dating goes." There was the cutest giddy grin on his lips, and he scratched the back of his neck. "I said I'd tell you if anything happened between us, so there. Now you're updated."

Bill raised his eyebrow at that. He hadn't cared about most of their discussion, but this caught his attention. "You've talked about us dating before?" Interesting. And undeniably adorable. He always knew Pine Tree was into him.

And oh, if he wasn't red already, he definitely was now. "It wasn't like that!" he squealed defensively, rambling. "It wasn't as if I was hoping I'd end up in a relationship with you— I mean, maybe,  _maybe_ I was interested in the possibility, but I didn't think it'd come to fruition. Mabel was worried she wouldn't be kept in the loop, so I promised to tell her if we started a romantic relationship."

"Next thing you know," Bill began teasingly. "You'll be spilling the juicy details of our sex life," though nonexistent recently, "because she's worried she won't be in the loop." How was Dipper not tempted to do that to begin with? Bill was a stud and the best in bed, no contest.

At first, Dipper seemed to experience mild discomfort at the notion, shifting his weight, and Bill wondered if this had something to do with the twins' previous accidental walk-in history. Luckily, he smiled a little after seconds of deliberation. "Nah, I think I'll respect your privacy and keep that between us."

Bill grinned at him, taking his smile as a sign he wasn't uncomfortable anymore. "Cutie, don't worry about me. I like it when others know about my thick dick."

Resounding from the backseat, there was an unmistakably victorious yell of 'I knew it!' from Mabel.

Quirking a brow, he snickered, "I'd also like to know about your thick dick, and why we haven't been introduced."

"Probably has something to do with those tight legs of yours, and how they refuse to let my cock grace your ass." The vehicle had taken a right turn, pulling into the parking lot of Ammu-Nation and stopping in one of the spots.

"Oh, for the love of—" Rolling his eyes was likely for show since he looked far from seriously offended. "Do you have to be so lewd about it?" He started messing with the door handle of the car, trying to escape, but to no avail since Bill wasn't about to unlock it for the kid. It was more fun this way.

"You're such a prude when it comes to sex," Mabel told him. "It makes you all flustered, Dippy!" The struggle with the door handle continued with more vigor. "Redder than fruity pie filling!"

Bill snickered. "I'm just being honest,  _cherry_. Escape is futile." With his vehicles, the driver had control over the locks. Sucked to be Pine Tree.

Shooting him a glare, Dipper huffed and flopped against the door, apparently resigned to his fate of being trapped in the vehicle. "Don't you have ammo to buy, jackass?"

"Yes,  _honeysuckle_." He unbuckled and got out of the vehicle, heading inside with Mabel trailing after him. The building looked shady as fuck, run-down and abandoned, but Bill knew it was still in business. Inside, it took a few minutes to order the arrangement of missiles, grenades, and bullets they needed to stock up on, and Bill wasn't looking forward to hauling it back to the car with only Mabel for company. Speaking of which… glancing back, he could see her eagerly peering at the assortment of weapons on display. Bill was still proud of her– she'd make a great cop killer with time. Right now, she was just an okay one.

Leaving the building with Mabel eventually following, he opened the trunk to dump the ammo inside. Slamming it closed, he moved to rejoin Dipper in the front seat, glancing at him. "Pine Tree."

"Hey, you're back," he greeted, clipping in his seatbelt, and he tilted his head to watch as Mabel filed into the backseat. "Are we ready to go?"

"Why didn't you go in?" Bill nearly demanded, scowling as he clipped in his own seatbelt. "You were so damn eager to get out."

"Yeah, I stretched," he said simply and pushed his legs forward, "and that was pretty nice. Why  _would_ I go in? Guns make me uncomfortable, the last thing I want to do is be surrounded by them, especially in a place like… that."

"I should kick you to the curb for not helping Shooting Star and me." He was willing to stretch and let them do all the hard work? Although night was already upon them and made the area more dangerous, Bill wished his car had an eject button. Not really, he liked his company more than he liked kicking him out.

"Just punish me by going to the restroom together."

Bill growled, briefly annoyed by that response. "I'll punish you by stealing all the clothes in the penthouse and forcing you to go around naked. I know you love everyone seeing your dick."

Dipper winced, but he didn't have time to respond since Mabel was cutting into the conversation. "Already seen it!" she said, wiping her nose with a small sniffle. "Also, I'm hungry! Can we get food? A lot of food? All the food in Los Santos? I could eat like a king!"

"I'm hungry too. Can we pick something up before we go back?" As if he believed further persuasion was needed, Dipper shuffled to train those big doe-eyes on him, intently staring. "Bill, you're the  _handsomest_ , and I'm sorry about not helping you with the supplies." There was a playfully flirtatious tone in his voice, a hint of laughter. "I didn't think you'd need help, y'know? You're um.. really strong and stuff?"

He relented, still agitated by Dipper's actions but trying to move on. It wasn't important, and he had an easier time letting the little things go with the help of his medication. "We can get food," he said. "Shitty fast food. I know how much you two love that."

"Oh god," Dipper groaned, "please no Cluckin' Bell. May as well be named fucking fast food hell."

While tempted to go there now, he decided the greasy slop wasn't worth seeing Dipper's annoyance, and he started driving in the direction of the city. Thanks to Fordsy's request to go to  _this specific_ Ammu-Nation, it was going to be some time before they were even near any halfway decent food establishments, but at least Shooting Star didn't talk his ears off this time and allowed him to enjoy the pop music of the radio while they cruised through the streets on the outskirts of Los Santos.

The twins were discussing some odd topic or another, but his mind was elsewhere— partially on driving, partially on yesterday's heist and what Stan had done on it, the thoughts spurred by passing over the Cassidy Creek Bridge (the vehicle one, that was.) Stan's reckless "punishment" could have easily turned into their deaths, and it almost did. Multiple times.

When the conversation died down, Bill asked, "Shooting Star, what're your thoughts on Stan's leadership?" Although the question had been directed at Mabel, his ever-inquisitive heterosexual life partner's attention had seemingly been snagged as well with how he was peering at him in interest, head cocked to a side.

"Oh!" Mabel gushed. "Isn't he great? He's so strong and thoughtful, and he really cares about us." Stan, giving two shits? Unlikely. That was laughable, and Bill narrowed his eyes at the suggestion that the guy was more than an everyday conman.

"He cares  _so much_  he's willing to leave Pine Tree and me behind as cop bait. What a great dude." He hoped she could taste the sarcasm that dripped from his mouth.

It was like a cloud settled over Dipper as he spoke, the kid's expression draining of happiness as he seemed to remember the events of the previous day, and he fiddled idly with the tails of his plaid shirt. From how Dipper flicked his gaze to him, it looked like he was about to join the conversation, but then he'd simply glance away again in defeat. Stan's betrayal must have scarred him worse than he realized, though he personally wasn't surprised by the display of reckless disloyalty in the heat of the moment. It was the last time he'd be trusting Stan, however.

"He did WHAT?!"

That appeared to be the invitation he'd been waiting for, and he replied nervously, "Look, I— I just sort of messed up on the most recent heist, the one yesterday? And… Stan got pretty mad at me and took it out on Bill too." It was a directionless, shaky explanation of events, and Bill saw it was only the tip of the iceberg. Oh, if Shooting Star had known what he did, she may not be so quick to defend him.

"If you want to sugarcoat it, sure. That's what happened. The reality of it? He got bitchy we were late, and once he recognized there wasn't room for all of us because Fordsy and Fatty are idiots who got hurt, he–"

"Is that why Ford's face is all…  _squiggly_? And why he has bandaids on it?" Mabel gasped.

That wasn't important. "Yeah, he decided to make out with a shattered glass window. But nevermind that, Stan  _abandoned_  us to the cops and told us to figure it out. He was willing to let us die."

"It was really terrifying," there was a quiet addition from beside him, and from the corner of his eye he could see Dipper's feet kicking restlessly, the rhythmic thump joining the low murmur of music in the background. "I still don't know why he decided to do that to both of us instead of just me. Bill didn't do anything wrong. Well, aside from being a jerk on the heist, but I… turned my headset off, and that's why Stan was angry."

Bill waved him off. "Turning your headset off isn't that important, cutie. Stan is just an asshole who doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone in the crew except his 'genius' of a brother."

"I still shouldn't have done that, and I'm not going to again." A shudder crept through him, his shoulders tensing and shaking. "Isn't that just… how things are, though? This is a crime gang. I don't think Stan has an obligation to keep us safe, even if he shouldn't have left us behind like that."

"NO!" Mabel objected, the opposition fierce and determined. "It shouldn't be like that! Who cares if it's a gang? We're a team, all of us, and he can't just go around leaving people in perilous situations."

Bill didn't realize she knew that word.

"I wouldn't do that if I was in charge. I'd actually protect my crew, and it's not fucking hard, Pine Tree. Stan's just incompetent. His only claim to leadership is 'creating' this gang, which in his case means giving it an official name after his brother died," Dipper looked like he wanted to question that, but Bill continued before he could, "and at this rate, if we don't replace him the gang won't last due to his bad judgment."

Mabel frowned in the rearview mirror, her arms folded. "Once we get our food, take me back to the penthouse because I need to give that jerk a strongly worded complaint about how he's running things around here!" Oh, Bill liked her. Why couldn't the world have more Shooting Stars, people that took matters into their own hands? "Treating the crew like trash is unacceptable, even from a cranky old man like him." Well, Stan wasn't that old. Late thirties, but he didn't bother correcting her.

"Wait, are you sure?" he asked, concerned. "I don't know if that's necessary. It's not that I don't think what he did was messed up, but… he's still the leader, Mabel. You can't just complain to him."

"She can do whatever the hell she wants, Pine Tree! She'll have Stan begging for mercy."

In a few minutes, they were pulling into the drive thru of the burger joint, and Bill rolled down his window to relay their orders to the cashier. After paying in cash at the next window and insisting the cashier keep the change since he seriously hated coins with a passion, two bags of food were passed to them, one of which was distributed to the squealing Mabel. She'd better love her burger, it had extra everything.

Back on the road, Bill headed to the penthouse, speed well beyond the suggest limits as they raced through the city. Traffic was calmer than usual, allowing him to make record time toward their destination. Glancing to the movement in his vision, he could see Mabel reaching to dig into her food, and he snapped. "Don't touch that!" Grease stains were disgusting, and he wasn't about to have to deal with them in his vehicle. Dipper already knew the drill, obediently sitting with the unopened bag. His reinforcement worked out well, with how her hand jolted back to her lap. Good girl. He had them both trained so well.

Reaching the driveway of the penthouse, Bill unlocked the doors. "Go get him, tiger. Make him regret fucking with your… Dippy Bro-bro." Speaking her language made him want to cringe.

"I  _will_. He better regret it!" Reaching up, Mabel shook her brother's shoulder with urgency. "He could've killed you, Dipper!" Before he could respond, she was bursting out of the car, stomping toward the door with purpose in her step.

With his hand drifting toward the handle, Dipper was about to follow her, but Bill held him back. "You're staying with me."

"Wait, I am?" he questioned, pausing and turning back toward him. "We aren't going inside?"

"Nope. We're gonna do some stargazing as we eat."

"Wow, so we're driving all the way out of Los Santos again?" That earned a laugh, but Bill shrugged since it wouldn't be that long of a journey. "That's a lot of traveling for one day but okay, fine. As long as you think Mabel will be okay on her own with Stan? Like, he won't… get mad at her, will he?" It was a tentative inquiry, his gaze downward as he rubbed his arms in guilt. Probably still felt bad about the heist, but Bill didn't think he was the one that fucked up, not in comparison to what Stan did.

But Stan, angry? Bill was pretty sure he couldn't be mad at Mabel when she was so clearly in the right. "She'll be fine, cutie. Stan's pretty soft around her."

* * *

Although it'd been a hefty drive to Sandy Shores, stargazing had been one of his best ideas yet. The food was long gone, the stars were out in a marvelous, twinkling blanket above them as they laid on the hood of his car in the cool air of the night, and he'd spent the last hour or so chatting about the various constellations to Dipper.

The kid would nod or make an encouraging noise every now and then to ensure he went on, but Bill wasn't an idiot. He knew he was hardly paying attention to this extremely educational lesson, but he kept talking anyway, both enamored with the subject and with how Dipper looked at him while he talked about it, his expression moonstruck and the dopiest of smiles on his face. In the glow of the starlight, he was even more gorgeous than he remembered.

"Dearest," he rumbled, slowly moving his face closer to him. "Have I ever told you how jaw-droppingly perfect you are?"

"Oh, man," Dipper laughed, slightly breathless and appearing entranced by him, gazing up with such profound adoration. An ego stroke and figurative stroke that went straight to his dick. "You are about to get so lucky."

Bill leaned in closer, pressing his lips against Dipper's in a kiss and feeling his gentle touch ghost over his arms and shoulders. It was languid and warm, a lazy exploration of one another, but also short-lived when a truck littered with stickers zoomed past them from the dirt road nearby. It was already irritating, they were in a more rural part of the county, located far from the cities— there were so many other roads they could've taken and yet the truck had to choose this one.

The head of some Sandy Shores local poked out of the passenger window, hollering: "Fags! Go fucking kill yourself, you freaks!" There was a startled noise from within Dipper's throat as he squirmed to see whoever had yelled at them, but in a smooth motion, Bill turned away from Dipper and pulled out his gun, firing a shot toward the vehicle. He'd been aiming for the passenger, and he struck him– he could see the body drop to the bottom of the open window. Nice.

That startled noise escalated to something shrill and loud, the squirming significantly more intense as Dipper was now desperate to see if he'd inflicted any damage.

Bill did, but he didn't need to know. He moved to pin him down, a hand flat against Dipper's chest, and his gun slipped back into his pocket. "Relax, cutie. Let's resume what we were doing."

A piercing cry, one unmistakably of terror and mourning, broke the tranquility of the evening distantly. Bill knew that sound, and it seemed Dipper did too with how his pupils shrank to pinpricks. There was a heavy moment of crushing silence between them as he awaited the inevitable panicking, the coughing and wheezing of someone who felt like he couldn't breathe.

But it didn't come, not yet.

"Y-you, uh… you just killed that person, didn't you?" It was stunned, as if he couldn't believe what'd happened, but he wasn't fighting against being pinned anymore.

"Probably." Definitely, based on how the body had fallen and the sound of distress. He hoped the driver was soaked in their friend's blood– maybe that'd teach them to not be dicks. "Surprised you haven't freaked out yet."

Although he'd been ready to restart the countdown-until-panicking, it seemed he would've been wrong again, as all he did was stare at him, a single word falling from his lips, "Bill." And he wasn't sure he'd ever heard his name spoken so softly and with such a distant sadness, but he didn't especially care for it either. "I wish you hadn't," he murmured. "I know it probably bothered you, but…" trailing off, he shook his head. ...Did he really disapprove of him killing that jackass?

Bill narrowed his eyes at him, frustration growing within briefly. "He deserved it." It was as straightforward as that. "Assholes like that? They don't deserve  _mercy_  or  _tolerance_ , they deserve to burn in hell."

Beneath him, he could see Dipper was starting to tremble, little quivers passing through him, and Bill wondered if this was the beginning of the anxiety he'd foreseen. With a frown, he sighed, "Maybe this wasn't the best place to do this."

"Would you rather make out in the car?" Bill asked, wondering if Dipper even wanted to continue. Those fuckers ruined everything, the perfect night under the stars wasted.

Dipper averted his gaze, seemingly unable to engage in any form of eye contact; he was determined to look at everything except him, making a point of never settling his attention on something for too long. With Bill hovering over him, it was painfully obvious what he was doing, but not as obvious why. "I meant Sandy Shores. This area isn't… exactly known for being accepting."

Accepting or not, it was one of the best spots for stargazing with the open fields and clear night skies. With Dipper basically avoiding him, he inquired: "So, what? Do you want to leave?"

"We kind of have to," he said after a thick swallow. "If we don't, the cops are going to be on us soon," Bill disagreed, "and you unloaded the supplies at the penthouse, so we'd have no way to defend ourselves." Fuck. He really didn't want to fucking leave, he liked this spot. Fuck those guys, they deserved death.

With a groan of frustration, he let Dipper up and moved to enter his vehicle. "You have to be fucking  _kidding me_." Blankly, Dipper watched him rise and then followed after, climbing into the passenger seat beside him and sighing again.

He was hunched over and hard to read, a rare occurrence when he was usually an open book about this. No anxiety attack, no long lecture. Just some halfhearted words about wishing he hadn't done that, and then needing to leave. Had he somehow gotten into the old medication? Thinking back, he was pretty sure he'd thrown that away in a fit of anger at the pills, frustrated how they'd made Dipper emotionless and convinced him to nearly hurt himself.

Bringing the car out of park and turning to head back on the road, it wasn't long until Bill deemed the silence uncomfortable, tired of mindlessly distracting himself by watching the streetlamp-lit roads passing them by. "Pine Tree?" It was getting concerning, his odd behavior.

"Hm?" he hummed as he sat upright, clearing his throat. Another movement, and he guessed it was Dipper working a hand through his hair, but he didn't look away from the road to confirm that. They were moving into an area higher in traffic, and it was in their best interest to have his visual attention undivided until they were through this busier spot, headlights passing them by every few seconds. "Yeah?"

"You doing okay, cutie? You've been awfully calm." It was bizarre, really. He was expecting the waterfall of tears as Dipper broke down. Instead, he got silence.

"I— I..." ah, yes, this was more like it. The hitching of Dipper's breath was a giveaway, the fragile waver in his voice, his muscles going rigid. Here it finally was. "I feel horrible, honestly. It's just that—"

Bill huffed. "Yes, I killed someone. He didn't deserve it, I shouldn't have lost my temper. Did I miss anything?" He was tired of these lessons, it didn't change the fact he felt justified. With this one. Maybe. Thinking about it was making him less certain. Would Dipper hurry up and reply already, give him something else to consider or just get on with the 'you're-a-bad-person' extravaganza? All he could do was owlishly stare at him.

"Oh, uh… wow," he stammered, "but I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say I feel horrible because I— well…" In a shuddering inhale, he said quickly, "I don't think I feel as bad as I should." His words spilled like a dam had been burst. "Sure, I feel sad, for the guy and his family, and I know you shouldn't have done that, it's morally wrong, but— but I don't think I feel as broken up over it as I should. It's the worst feeling, like I'm some sort of monster for not tearing up or deeply caring about the death of another human being. I'm kind of disappointed in myself, like— is there something wrong with me? Maybe it's how we've been close to death ourselves recently, or.. I don't even know."

Oh, this was different than he thought it'd be. "Cutie," he said softly. "Nothing's wrong with you, okay? It's natural to become desensitized after everything you've been through." Hopefully, he didn't have to list it. "You're amazing, sweetheart. The most caring person I know, but that doesn't mean you have to trip over yourself to care about every single being because if you force it, then it just becomes disingenuous and meaningless."

"Really?" Dipper sounded and appeared stunned, but Bill could see the beginnings of relief sweeping across his features, dissolving the anxiety. "You don't think I'm an awful person for… y'know," a vague hand gesture, "not sobbing over this?"

"I don't," he told him. "You're still a good person." The best person. Unlike Bill, who just murdered someone and was still angry about their kissing being ruined.

"Thanks, I.. guess I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that," Dipper gave him a sideways glance, emitting a choked and sad laugh while his fingers drummed idly on the console. "Even if that is coming from you. Seriously, though, I appreciate it."

Bill smiled at him. "Of course, cutie. Hey, why don't we get a hotel room? Get away from the others for tonight?" Mabel could handle the brothers without them. Bill wanted to relax and help Dipper do the same, wanting to reaffirm that there was nothing wrong with him.

"I don't know," he confessed, unsure. "Do you think Mabel's doing okay? She's been texting me off and on tonight, but she says she'll tell me about what happened with Stan when I come back." There was a small pause, and he said, "Honestly, it'd be nice to get away. I liked being at your place in Paleto Bay, it was… relaxing." Biting back a snort at that, he guessed it had to be relaxing if it'd convinced Dipper to start a sexual relationship with him after months of holding out. It had to be something in the water there. More quietly, he added, "And I don't feel ready to see Stan again."

Bill wondered if it would be weird with them or if they would pretend like nothing had happened, but since Stan had been away earlier, he guessed he'd have to wait to find out. 

"Shooting Star is fine,"' he told him. "She can look after herself. The girl's vicious when she wants to be." From beside him, there was an "I know" and a brief pause as Bill moved to kiss his cheek, all he could manage while driving but yearned for more. "We don't have to see Stan. We'll go to a nice hotel, get cozy." Bill winked at him. He didn't just mean snuggling.

"Yeah," Dipper said thoughtfully, "maybe just for tonight. I'll let Mabel know we're coming back tomorrow so she doesn't get worried or anything." There was the glow of a phone screen on the passenger side of the car, most likely him texting Mabel and informing her of their plans. Although Bill wasn't completely certain, he thought he heard him follow that with a mumble of, "I doubt Stan will even notice."

Stan probably would, but not for the right reasons. There was a good chance he wanted to try to kill them again over the heist incident, cue another lecture, and not being there would put a stop to his nefarious plans. "Doesn't matter if he does or not, let's just enjoy the night with each other. Sound good, doll?"

"I didn't know you heard that," he confessed with a nervous laugh, shifting his weight where he sat. "I didn't realize I said it out loud, but…" he nodded after a slight hesitation, going on playfully, "it sounds good, as long as you're actually taking me to a nice hotel. I'm not  _getting cozy_ with you on disgusting sheets in a rundown room."

"Only the best for you,  _honey_." Bill made a turn onto the main highway, leaving the dirt country roads behind. It took only a handful of minutes for them to pull off at an exit and take a left turn into The Viceroy Hotels and Resorts parking lot. Usually, they'd need a reservation for the upscale business, but this was Bill. He got whatever the fuck he wanted, and money talked in this city.

"Here?" Dipper asked, feigning disgust while trying to hide his smile. "This is the best you can do?"

"What, you want the Generic Hotel instead?" Bill wouldn't be caught dead there, the place was trashy as shit.

"I'm pretty sure you wanted me to meet you there at some point," he said with amusement. "...Our first text conversation. So long ago, and you're still a total jackass, but I guess I like you a lot more now."

"Feeling sentimental?" Bill smirked. He was surprised he remembered that– Bill sure as hell hadn't until now. "You were a cheap whore then, now you've upgraded. You should appreciate it."

Dipper bit his lip, holding back a laugh. "Don't make me get a separate room."

"You wouldn't be able to afford it, cutie." This place was one of the most expensive hotels in Los Santos. If Bill wasn't loaded, he would've looked for something else.

"What happened to having indirect access to your funds?" he asked. "Or maybe Stan would like to pay? He's the one always telling us to stay apart, anyway."

Bill didn't plan on paying if he didn't have access to his boyfriend. And did Dipper honestly think Stan would cover the costs? "Yeah, nothing like Stan canceling that transaction and having the card closed because he's a dick. His bank'll be all over it too because it's a credit card."

"Great, thanks to Stan, I guess I have no choice but to share a room with you," he replied as if it happened to be the worst fate in the world, shooting Bill a fleeting grin. "What a downgrade."

Bill tsked at him. "Just for that, you have to sleep with me if you want me to pay for the room." With an attitude like that, he'd do more than just sleep.

"Well,  _yeah_ , obviously I'm going to sleep with you." A roll of his eyes. "Did you think you were going to be able to banish me to the floor?"

"The floor is a viable place to bone, Pine Tree." A bit rough, but it'd get the job done.

"We're not boning on the floor, Bill." What a shame. Despite that, Dipper leaned over to kiss him, then explained, "I've wanted to do that for a while, but you were driving. Are you ready to go in?"

Ah, he'd been awaiting the opportunity to kiss him. It was always nice. "I was born ready, cutie."

From there, they went into the hotel together and as expected, a few extra bills slipped to the receptionist had a room prepared for them despite previously being booked without any availability. Because he wanted to ensure Dipper was doing better, in a good place mentally and emotionally after the incident earlier, they'd walked around the hotel and its courtyard, Bill narrating and giving a tour in his absolutely perfect Russian accent, much to his love's loudly-voiced discontent. But Bill knew he adored it after he'd heard little snickers under the kid's breath.

Once they headed to the room, Dipper's impressed gaze as he scanned his surroundings had his chest puffed with pride— he wasn't going to skimp on this, he knew how to treat his dates right. It seemed he'd hit the mark with Dipper's exclamations about the amenities and the soft sheets and the king sized bed (which he'd wasted no time in rolling around on), and a bunch of other features of the room.

In the bathroom, Bill plugged the drain of the hot tub and began to fill it with water, then turned on the jets as soon as it was feasible to do so. As the water level rose, Bill grabbed a couple towels for later, thoughts of Dipper joining him making him crave the reality. Maybe he'd see his sweet ass again.

In the entryway, he could hear Dipper beginning to ask, "What are you— oh." Approaching, he peered over the edge of the hot tub and watched it filling with water, steam starting to rise. "We're one of those couples now?"

"Do you not want to be?" Bill asked. He did, he wanted to get cozy in the water with his Pine Tree. "You said you were sore earlier. I thought this would help."

Dragging a fingertip along the porcelain, Dipper said, "It just seems a little too traditionally romantic for your standards. Maybe you weren't kidding when you claimed you were a grand romantic after all."

Eh, he'd give it a five out of seven. "Needs more candles."

"More wine," he joked with a chuckle. "So you're serious about this? We're going to—?" he stopped, making a small motion toward the hot tub.

"Have sex? Bathe together? Make the fuck out? Yes." Dipper needed to stop making everything so complicated. With another look at the water, Bill decided it was full enough and turned off the flow, gazing expectantly to Dipper.

"I meant bathe together, actually, but I guess we'll see about the other stuff." It seemed his mental messages begging Dipper to strip had worked, as he started to unbutton his plaid shirt and work out of his jeans, hesitating and then removing his underwear.

That was a 'yes' if he'd ever heard one, and Bill began to shed his clothing, shimmying off his suspenders and shirt and his slacks and boxers, acutely aware of a certain pair of brown eyes on him, drinking this in. "You should join me, cutie," he said as he climbed into the water.

Complying with a simple "okay", he was soon in the water with him, sitting on the ledge and then getting an idea. A very welcome idea too, since he was gliding onto his lap, thighs framing his own. "This is… uh, actually pretty comfortable. More comfortable than I thought it'd be." Leaning back, his eyes seemed to drag over him, the dilation of his pupils not lost on Bill.

"Relaxing," Bill agreed as he leaned back in the tub. "How're you feeling, cutie?" He smiled at him, admiring his smooth, beanpole frame. It was adorable, how tiny he was in comparison to others his age. Even his sister was larger than him, she'd filled out and became broader whereas he seemed to have skipped that part of puberty.

"Warm, but it's nice," he responded, wriggling a little to get situated on his lap and place his hands on his shoulders. The way his gaze dropped suggested he was looking over his body, probably ensnared by his stunning attractiveness and amazingly toned muscle, before he flicked his eyes up again. "I know I said it before, but I really missed you."

Bill nuzzled him. "I missed you too." A lot. A ridiculous amount. He wanted to smother the kid in loves.

Despite the heat rising in the water, he could feel the tendril of Dipper's breath on the side of his neck as he returned the affection, feeling his jaw tickled lightly by hair as he tilted his head to kiss his neck once, then twice. Unfortunately, a third didn't come because he pulled back. By now, his cheeks were flushed a deep ruddy red, either from the warmth of the water or from his ministrations and their proximity. Bill preferred to believe the latter was the culprit.

Almost tentatively, Dipper murmured, "Remember when you marked me? ...The hickeys didn't wear off for days, but I mean it was kind of nice. Really nice."

"Do you want me to mark you again?" he asked contemplatively, twisting his neck so his teeth could graze the skin of Dipper's. "I could litter your neck. Make the whole world know you belong to me."

"Oh," he breathed with fascination. His eyes were wide. Wanting. "Please, Bill." It was damn near a mewl, how he asked so sweetly and was already tipping his neck in compliant submission, silently begging him to decorate his pale skin in marks of lust. "I— I want to be yours."

He was his, but Bill wanted everyone to be aware of that. He latched onto his neck, nipping at the soft skin as he sucked purplish-red marks into his flesh. Beneath him, he felt Dipper squirm and gasp at the contact, then melt into it, an encouragement to keep going, to move beyond this spot once he was satisfied with the mark that'd appeared.

He kissed and licked a trail to the column of Dipper's throat, feeling his quickening pulse and the small movements of muscle as he swallowed. There was a tiny whine, so very fragile yet so desperate for more, and Bill was glad to oblige as he bite down, sucking a new spot into the skin.

When he pulled away again, he didn't have long to recover because he was greeted with a hungry and passionate kiss. Fingertips dug into his shoulders, Dipper's lips against his own feverishly, tongue gently prodding at the seam of his lips. Bill wasn't so careful, ravenously returning the kiss as he pushed his tongue into his mouth, enjoying Dipper's sweet taste and the feel of his soft lips on his.

While it continued, the kiss became more enthusiastic, mouths and tongues moving together as desire fueled the enthusiastic shift. It was sloppy and needy and the moans spilling from Dipper were fanning the flames within him, the vocal demonstration of pleasure heating his whole body.

Bill's hands drifted to stroke along Dipper's hips, aware of how sensitive he was as he pressed up against him. It was marvelous, the response, the little shudder that wracked his body, and it was all because of  _him_.

By now, Dipper was collapsed against him and breathing heavily through the air thick with the water's moisture, chin resting on his shoulder as their chests were flush together, lower halves submerged in the rippling water of the hot tub. He looked so vulnerable like this, so  _eager_ , it came across as feminine in nature to Bill, and he was tempted to grind against him, make him moan more.

But… the lingering thought of being called a fag earlier remained, and he frowned. He wasn't a fucking  _fag_ , of all things, and he needed to fix it to halt the creeping discomfort with being intimate. "Cutie," he murmured, momentarily pausing his affection.

"Hm?" he inhaled, shifting to look at him with those blown pupils undoubtedly lusting for him. "Why did you stop?" This was important, was why.

"Can we pretend you're trans? Just for now." Or forever. Preferably forever. He was too uncomfortable with the thought of Dipper identifying as or being biologically male right now, one of those had to change.

"Wait." Utter confusion twinged with alarm had crossed his formerly dazed expression, like someone had splashed a metaphorical bucket of ice water on him and stunned the kid. Mind likely whirring, Dipper gave a strained, puzzled hum and asked, "Uh, ...could— could you repeat that? Preferably with more elaboration."

It wasn't that difficult to wrap his head around. "Let me pretend you're a girl, cutie." The specifics didn't matter, he just needed to identify as female.

Stupefied, his jaw went slack as he examined him for several moments, appearing conflicted and uncomfortable with the notion of being perceived as a female. There was more fidgeting, more eye-darting, and a lot less making out than Bill would've liked at this point. Finally, a faltering question came, "Why?"

Mostly because he was uncomfortable given what'd happened in Sandy Shores, but he didn't want to admit that to Dipper. "Why not?" Bill asked. "Please, cutie. For me?" Who could resist a request like that?

The narrowing of his eyes suggested he'd noticed the skirting of the issue, but he seemed to understand pushing for an answer wouldn't lead them anywhere. "So.. you seriously want to pretend I'm a girl," he mumbled, glancing away with a cough. "I… What does that even mean? How are you going to do that?"

"Just… flutter your eyelashes and look pretty with those doe eyes of yours. Leave the fantasy to me." He was good at that. Harboring sexual fantasies was something he did often, more so in his younger years but he could manage.

Bill felt his fingers tapping nervously on his shoulders, an impending sigh seemingly bit back as he clarified, "Just this once, right?"

Well, maybe. Hopefully. He wasn't too sure on that one, but he knew it'd bothered him earlier when they were called… that. Fags. It continued to stir a deep discomfort in him, but this was a method of alleviating it. "Yes, doll. Please?"

"Okay," it was a shaky agreement, uncertain, teetering like he was going to retract it. "I guess as long as it's only the one time, and just… don't make this weirder."

Bill wasn't going to promise anything, and his hands drifted to his hips, situating Dipper, aligning him just right before he began to grind.

Trying to build the fantasy in his mind, Bill tilted his head back and closed his eyes, imagining his cock between Dipper's slick, wet folds. He knew she'd been excited, but he wasn't expecting the dripping arousal that coated his dick.

"Cutie," he softly moaned. "You feel so fucking good, and you're already so damn wet for me." There was a small stutter in the grinding movements of Dipper's hips, perhaps a brief hesitation, but Bill was quick to aid her, using his grip to encourage his lovely girlfriend to keep going since it was beginning to feel wonderful.

Pace increasing, he roughly pressed Dipper into him as it elicited a squeak and squirming, but he soothed her with his thumbs brushing over her delicate, jutting hip bones. "I know how eager you are," he hummed lowly, "to be filled by me. I can't wait to knock you up."

A startled, choked sound shattered his fantasy, and he opened his eyes as he felt Dipper wriggle out of his grasp, watching the alarmed kid settle on the other side of the hot tub with a guilty expression. "Look, I— I don't think I can…" he started with a tremble, frowning. "I want to be accommodating, seriously, and I swear I'm not trying to kinkshame if this is what you're into, but I'm not sure I'm on board with the whole genderswapping thing."

Bill frowned at him, displeased by this change of events. Dipper had agreed to this? How could he now be uncomfortable? Bill hadn't crossed any lines. "You've given me a scone, only to rip it away, Pine Tree."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Really. I was hoping it wouldn't be a problem, but it was just… not my thing? I would've continued if I hadn't felt super uncomfortable." There was a weighted silence between them as Dipper placed a hand over his face, then dragged it through his hair. "You've… never asked to do that before. It's because of what happened earlier, isn't it?"

"No." Totally not. What was Dipper even talking about? Bill didn't have an issue with being called a 'fag'. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. He refused to.

There was a tired exhale, and Dipper leaned against the wall of the hot tub, resting his elbows on the sides. "If you want to fantasize about me being female, why do you think you're gay, anyway?" A pinch of sadness spilled into his voice as he went on, "Or… I guess why don't you just date someone who  _is_ female?"

Bill didn't want this discussion, didn't want to deal with Dipper overreacting to Bill trying to make him a lady. Without a word, he began to get up, getting out of the hot tub.

After redressing (if throwing on boxers could be called 'redressing'), he flopped onto the bed and stared at the wall, lost in his thoughts and unwilling to talk about them to Dipper, who joined him after a while. Trying to avoid a conversation, Bill didn't look at him, didn't speak to him, didn't acknowledge him, and he was convinced it was better this way.

A bad mood had engulfed him, irritated simultaneously by the fact he was apparently a  _fag_  again, and how he'd ruined his chances at intimacy because he was so bothered by it. It sucked, everything sucked, and he hated himself. Why did Dipper stay with him?

Stealing a careful glance over his shoulder, he saw Dipper was facing away toward the other wall, curled in on himself and nearly swallowed by his signature plaid shirt. Unable to see much of his face, he deduced he was perhaps asleep from how even and drawn out his breathing was, side rising and falling in slow motions.

It was getting rather late, and driving had worn both of them out. But leaving things the way they were between them… it didn't seem right, he was not only uncomfortable with himself, but with how he'd fucked everything up.

Bill sighed, shuffling around in the bed in order to turn toward Dipper's back, frowning at the back of his head. He didn't want to face him still, but… he wanted to try to fix some of the mess he'd made. "Cutie?" his voice was quiet.

There was a moment where he thought Dipper was too out of it to hear him, then there was rustling as he rolled to his back, dark, curious albeit sleepy eyes transfixed on him. "Bill?" he greeted in a partial question, appearing surprised he'd been spoken to. And then it was Bill's turn to be surprised when he asked, "Hey, are you doing okay?"

Why did he jump to that? Why didn't he hate him, snap at him, tell him to fuck off? "I don't feel okay." It remained a quiet confession, partially out of shame for his weakness.

"I kind of figured," Dipper admitted, the sheets shifting again as he snuggled in beside him, head on his chest. The position was familiar, they'd slept this way many nights. "Want to talk about it, or…?"

"I don't want to," Bill said. The problem was, he was pretty sure he had to. "But… it's unfair to you. I can't do that." He couldn't leave it on this note for tonight, he needed to amend their relationship. He wanted Dipper's affection.

"Don't have to," he yawned. "We could talk about it when you're ready." The tone suggested he already knew what the problem was, and he probably did since he'd outright called him on it previously, the thought of the incident that'd led them here bringing a bitter taste to his mouth.

No, it had to be done now. They couldn't wait. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I made you uncomfortable earlier." Forcing him to be a girl, becoming agitated when he became uncomfortable. It wasn't cool.

Against him, his shoulders moved in what was likely a shrug, but Bill couldn't tell from this angle. "Yeah. Not really a big deal because we stopped, and it's not like you pressured me to continue or demanded a blowjob like some entitled jerk." Bill could heard the smile in his voice, then felt the affectionate nuzzle. "Honestly? I was more worried about you."

He couldn't understand why Dipper was so forgiving. He didn't deserve this. "I didn't… like being called a 'fag'. I still don't." He shuffled, trying to get even closer to Dipper despite it being impossible, though Dipper somehow got the hint and moved to rest completely on top of him, gazing at him through tired eyes. It was tempting to tell Pine Tree he loved him, but he knew he already made him uncomfortable enough tonight and didn't want to risk doing so again.

"I didn't like it either," he said, grimacing, "but I can see why it'd be harder for you to hear it, and why you…" he trailed off and ended the sentence with a quiet 'yeah' before moving on. "Sandy Shores is like that, but most cities aren't so intolerant, y'know? Not around here, I mean. It sounds stupid, I get it, but you really shouldn't let what some strangers think bother you when there's nothing wrong with being gay."

Bill frowned at him. "Pine Tree, am I a fag?" He didn't think so, but it never hurt to check. Dipper could be right about being gay, or he could just be saying that in general and holding off on breaking the news to him. He didn't want to be a  _fag_.

"I... I don't know?" Dipper's voice raised. "That's sort of a weird thing to wonder about since it's an offensive slur." As he thought, a little hum escaped him, and his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you asking if you're gay? Because I seriously have no idea, I think you'd have to answer that."

"I don't know." He hoped he wasn't a fag, but being gay seemed… better than straight, less 'whore getting pregnant' bullshit and more being with Dipper.

"That's okay, it's sort of arbitrary anyway."

Cocooned in the warmth of the blanket and Dipper, he nuzzled him, stifling a yawn. "Are you okay, cutie?" He was still worried in some way, wanting his Pine Tree to feel safe and comfortable, particularly when he'd messed things up again.

As if contemplating a response, he shifted his weight, a slight rock back and forth that Bill felt underneath him. It was a little uncomfortable, he had sharp hip bones and they were digging into his stomach. "Are you?"

"Sleepy."

"Me too."

Bill kissed his chin, grinning tiredly at him. The kid was cute when he was exhausted, with his messy hair and dark eyes. "Want to watch television until we crash, sugar?"

Tilting his head down, Dipper stole a kiss on his lips and murmured, "Yeah, sounds good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is Wednesday, maybe. If not Wednesday, then Sunday- depends on how busy we are this week. 
> 
> Also, thanks for reading, your support is very much appreciated. :)


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Thursday update? Whaaaat? It was supposed to be out Wednesday, but I fell ill and had to deal with that — sorry for the delay. This chapter is the first part of a split chapter; we had to, it's gigantic.
> 
> Enjoy part one & don't mind the many references to prior events of the fic.
> 
> Warning(s): Bill is a jerk.

Several days had passed since their outing and stay at the hotel. To Dipper's surprise, Stan hadn't been mad about their departure, nor did he seem interested in lecturing either of them, but his constant presence in the penthouse made it impossible for him and Mabel to talk about the confrontation she had with Stan. Now, for the first time in days, both Stan and Ford had left a few minutes ago while Stan muttered curses under his breath about some client, and Dipper was determined to use this opportunity to catch up with Mabel.

In the kitchen, Dipper was slumped over the countertop as he thumbed through one of Ford's physics textbooks. It wasn't as interesting as the mystery novels, but it was still informative, a good way to pass time as he waited for lunch to be finished. It had to be getting close because the scent of fresh, homemade pizza pockets was hovering in the air of the penthouse.

Apparently, Wendy and Mabel had been smelling it too since they'd alternated with popping in every five minutes, asking when they'd be done. He assured he'd bring the pizza pockets to them when they were ready, but the timer indicated they weren't, further proven by how the crusts hadn't completely risen.

The thud of footsteps announced someone's entrance, and Dipper glanced back as arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him against a larger form, too tall and too tattooed to be Mabel, and Wendy probably wouldn't do this with him. That left…

"Cutie," his hum was soft. "You look good."

"Waking up a little before noon?" he teased, turning around to face Bill and resting his hands on his shoulders. "This must be some sort of record. Did Mabel and Wendy wake you?" Although they weren't  _loud_ , their conversations sometimes rose in volume and excitement before dropping back down again.

"Nah," Bill said as he kissed his forehead. "Kept waking up without you in bed and figured I might as well get up since that wasn't going anywhere."

"Insomnia again?" Dipper asked, fingers dragging over his shoulder to his upper arm, simply feeling the muscles rippling underneath. Raising his eyebrows, he added, "Or a sob story for attention?" His response was a small chuckle, Bill pressing a kiss against his lips, and he returned it gently until they parted.

"Yes."

Of course that would be Bill's answer, and he was going to assume that meant 'both.' Well, he could deliver on the attention; there wasn't much he could do about the insomnia, not until tonight when they were ready to sleep. Turning around once more, he supposed it was time to check on how the food was doing and leaned down to peer into the oven,  _maybe—_ just maybe—pushing back against Bill a bit more than necessary. "Do you want a couple pizza pockets?" he inquired, feigning innocence. "They'll be done soon."

Bill seemed to take being pressed against as an indication to place a hand on his hips and grind into him. "I'd love a pizza," he answered, and Dipper could  _hear_  the smirk in his voice. "A pizza you."

"I am so tempted to put my head in this oven. I can't believe I'm dating you." He wasn't just in a relationship with Bill, he was in a relationship with his awful puns. But even so, stating that, the verbal recognition of their romantic affection, sent a tiny burst of giddiness throughout him.

It wasn't as if their interactions had changed at all since they were exclusive friends with benefits, but the knowledge that there was more to it than physical attraction, and it was  _mutual_ , had him on cloud nine whenever he thought about it. Which, admittedly, was quite frequent as of late.

When he stood up, Bill planted a wet kiss to his cheek. "When are the pizza pockets going to be done, cutie?"

"A minute or two," he reported, making a face and wiping off the excess saliva. "Gross, dude." It was funny, he remembered how Bill had started the cheek-kissing fiasco during the first twenty-four hours of his stay at the penthouse. It was something he distinctly remembered disliking but now made him nostalgic, though that hadn't been terribly long ago.

Thoughts returning to the pizza pockets as he scooted away to retrieve plates, Dipper said, "I can't tell if you're just impatient or have somewhere you need to be."

"Yes." That had his expression and mood deflating. It wasn't the end of the world, but was still disappointing when he enjoyed having Bill around. Unsurprisingly, Bill had followed him over to the plates, solely to grab his ass. "Wish I didn't, with an ass so fine waiting for me here."

" _You_  said it was inadequate."

He shrugged. "I've said lots of things, don't worry your stars about it."

Curious about Bill's impending departure, he questioned above the sound of plates clanking, "By the way, where are you going?" Wherever it was, he hoped it was nowhere dangerous.

"I have a job I need to do." So probably somewhere dangerous. "Hopefully it won't take long, but I wouldn't count on it." 

"Okay." Dipper unstacked the plates onto the counter near the oven, preparing to load the finished pizza pockets onto them. "Guess I'll see you later when you get back?"

"Yep," Bill reached to steal a pizza pocket, almost immediately dropping it back on the plate. "Shit," he swore. "Hot."

After a cursory glance had ensured he was okay, Dipper mumbled an affectionate "you big dork" under his breath before he finished transferring the pizza pockets to the plates, bringing them to Mabel and Wendy in the main living space with Bill in tow.

Chatter filled the air as they ate, everybody contributing to the discussion except his  _boyfriend_  (the thought never failed to bring a smile to his face), who was too busy wolfing down his pizza pockets for idle conversation. He'd left shortly after, and Dipper cleared away the mess, then returned to the sofa.

Sitting beside Mabel, it was a mere second of peace before she began poking him in the cheek with an enthusiastic chant, "Hey Dipper! Hey Dipper! Hey Dipper!" Mabel was bouncing in her seat on the sofa, more energetic than he thought possible, especially right after eating. If she was looking to him for entertainment, clearly the television filling the penthouse with background noise wasn't doing its job. Not that he blamed her, daytime programming was a nightmare.

Mabel must have sensed she didn't have his full attention, but another cheek-poke amended the problem. "Have you and Bill banged yet? How was it?" After sniffling, she added in a whisper, "Gimme dat gossip, bro!"

He blushed. This… was not a subject they were going to talk about, though he didn't have anything to share in regards to it anyway. Mostly, they'd been trying to figure out this new relationship they were in, and they hadn't done anything sexual recently except for…

He was  _definitely_ not talking about that time since it'd ended in abject failure, and gave them enough shared discomfort to last a lifetime.

"Mabel!" Wendy said half-chidingly through a chuckle. "You can't just  _ask_ that." Dipper would have felt more at ease if she hadn't followed her statement with an inquisitive, "But.. have you?"

Attempting to dodge the question until he could get out of it completely, he asked with genuine curiosity, "Why is it so important?"

Jostling his shoulders, Mabel said insistently, "I wanna know what he's like in bed, Bro-bro! Spill the seeds because we both know you have it inside of you!"

"Ew! What the heck, Mabel?!" His sound of horror was met with her burst of laughter. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "If you want to know what he's like in bed, you should ask Wendy. She's had an experience with him."

"It was hardly an experience, man," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, kicking her feet onto the coffee table. "You've been in his room, right? You know that giant mirror above his bed?"

"No?"

"Well, he used to have one there." Dipper deduced he'd replaced it with a skylight at some point. "And he stared at it the whole time we were having sex. Super creepy and self-absorbed."

"How… how do you know he wasn't admiring you from a new angle or something?" Dipper suggested with a hint of a shrug and smile, not aiming to defend Bill but rather to brighten Wendy's perception of the memory.

"Dude, that's sweet." Wendy laughed, "But nah, he kept moaning his own name." It wasn't shocking when Bill exhibited countless narcissistic tendencies, though he was relieved he had never done that to him.

"Oh my god!" Mabel giggled. "Did he do that to you too, Dippy?!"

Again trying to skirt the question, he informed her, "He doesn't have a mirror on the ceiling anymore." Since the only mirror was on the wall now, it would be difficult to do that, even if they hadn't been inadvertently abstaining from engaging in sexual activities as of late.

"Oh, so you are boning him though!" Not really, though he wasn't going to confirm or deny that aloud when his physical intimacy with Bill didn't involve Mabel or Wendy. ...Thank god. "How thick is he?" She sniffled before saying, "Also, that's 'thick' with two 'c's!"

It was getting a bit too personal now, and he couldn't really think of a way to weasel out of the questions. With a nervous laugh and tug on his collar, he decided, " _Okay_ , we're not talking about this." Although Bill wouldn't mind him divulging his information, it was awkward— did siblings usually do this? He and Mabel had always been close, but this seemed to border into strange territory, talking about their sexual experiences and comparing notes.

"Wow, you're too embarrassed to say if he's a monster or a teeny weeny!"

Desperate for a topic change and remembering Mabel's sniffling, he wondered aloud, "Is it getting to be the time of year for our allergies?" It was close, but he hadn't felt the effects of it himself yet, which was odd when they were pretty in sync.

"I don't know, why? Are you feeling sick?"

"Oh, no. I'm feeling great." Huh. He figured Mabel must not be too under the weather if she didn't register her own sniffles, so he moved on to ask, "So what about Stan? How did it go, talking to him?" Mabel had said she'd discuss it with him, but they hadn't had a chance when Stan was hovering around most of the time.

"About what?" Wendy asked, an eyebrow raising. "Oh, that shit he pulled with you and Bill on the heist? Messed up, if you ask me."

"Yeah, that!" Mabel beamed. "I told his sorry ass off! I told him if he tried to kill you again, I'd put my heel boots down his throat and make sure he'd end up like those cops Bill had me take care of! Also, I wouldn't join his dumb crew if he did that. I bet I could find someone who'd really appreciate our talents."

Dipper was surprised by the extent of her complaints, but glad she had his back in this situation. "Geez, uh... how did he take it?"

"He surrendered to my demands and promised he wouldn't do it again, but he wants to talk to you alone at some point. No Bill or Ford, he said, so it must be pretty serious." A meeting he was going to put off until he couldn't anymore, that was for certain. "Best of all, he's getting cookies for me!"

Wendy snickered, "Might be more whipped than Bill."

That elicited a protesting whine from Dipper. "He's not whipped! He's just making… adult decisions on his own and without my influence usually, that happen to sometimes be in my favor, but he's not whipped."

Mabel made a 'waPAH' noise, her hand flicking to mimic cracking a whip. "He's so whipped he carried you out of the penthouse, to the garage, and put you in the car a couple days ago for your coffee run!"

"I was  _sore_!" And he hadn't made Bill do it or even asked him to, he'd complained about the discomfort, and Bill had taken it upon himself to carry him. Overall, it'd been a kind gesture rather than proof of being whipped.

"Hey, all this talk of Bill and Stan reminds me, are you guys actually joining?" Wendy asked, looking between the twins. "That'd be awesome, if you are. Finally some new faces around here, and more people to prank with Stan with."

Mabel was shrugging her shoulders, looking like she was undecided on the ordeal, which was confusing when she'd been the one that wanted to join initially. "Since Stan might finally get his cranky old man act together, I want to," she said. "I dunno about Dipster, but it's just—"

"Yeah, I think we're going to," he responded with a grin, liking the thought of sticking around after getting into a relationship with Bill, and his relations with the other crew members were decent as well. Minus Stan. Not that things were bad between them, but Stan was a bit of an anomaly, acting strange after that evening.

"Sweet," she said. "You'll have to arrange that with Stan and Ford, but I think they'll be happy to make it official." Taking her legs off of the coffee table, Wendy rose from her spot on the sofa to stretch. "Well, I dunno about you two, but I'm getting bored just sitting around here all day. Want to grab Soos and hit the city?"

Interested in the prospect of getting out for a change, Dipper nodded, and Mabel's hands clenched in front of herself excitedly at that, asking, "I'd love to! How soon are we going?"

"Soon as you get your lazy butts off that sofa. Race ya to the door!"

* * *

They'd ended up going to the mall. It was a blast between trying different foods at the food court, shopping, finding the most wacky clothes and wardrobe combinations possible (he and Wendy thought it would be funny, so they'd purchased matching plaid shirts and jeans, throwing them on afterward), and then ending the day with Soos' run-in with mall security over using the kids' coin-operated rides.

By the time they'd returned from the mall, dropped off Soos, and had made their way back into the penthouse, it was past dark. Bill had finished with his job as per the few texts they'd exchanged, and it seemed Stan and Ford were back as well from wherever they'd been earlier.

Entering the penthouse, Mabel all but flung herself toward the sofa and claimed a spot on it, meanwhile Wendy veered away at the sight of Stan, likely to talk to him. Ford was sitting on the sofa with a thick textbook in his hands, and Bill was watching the television, the screen casting a colorful glow across his face.

After a minute of talking to Stan, Wendy returned with a DVD in her hands. "Boosh! Who's up for movie night?" her inquiry was loud, raised probably to bring it to everyone's attention.

Ford only brought his book closer to his face, probably trying to block out his surroundings, Stan grabbing a cushion beside him.

"If it's with you, I'd rather shoot myself." Bill's voice was dry as he kept his eyes on the screen, and Dipper bit his tongue to avoid groaning aloud at the display of vitriol. Oh, great. So it was going to be one of those nights, the nights in which Bill kept casting glares and insults at Wendy in hopes of something sticking and breaking into a fight.

"Ooh, movie night?" Leaning forward in interest, Mabel's hands waved wildly. "Me! Me, me, me! Pop that bad boy in and let's get to some movie watchin'!"

"Sure," Dipper agreed, walking over to the sofa, sitting not too far from Bill. Before he could say anything in greeting or maybe to chastise him for the unnecessarily bitter comment, Mabel was speaking again.

"What are we watching?! Better be something with a lot of action! Or  _romance_!" She gasped, eyes widening. "Or a mystery! Or all three!"

"Don't worry, I got us covered," Wendy said easily, brushing a hand to dismiss her concerns as she put the disk into the player, then sat back onto the sofa on the other side of him. "Get ready to witness the laughably cringy  _Tit-anic_."

"Oh, good! Bad porn starring the slut of Los Santos: Wendy." After he finished speaking, Bill seemed to notice how close Wendy was sitting to Dipper, and his eyes narrowed at them, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two. Instant agitation swept his features, his expression darkening with every second that passed. "What," he said, tone snarky. "Are you two dating now?"

Completely confused by the sudden change from earlier today, Dipper pointed to himself with a questioningly lifted eyebrow, mouthing 'me?' to Bill. He'd been looking at him, but that had come out of left field, and usually his spats with Wendy didn't involve anybody else.

"Yes,  _you_. First you run off with her, now you're wearing the same clothes as  _her._ " Dipper's expression flattened, disbelief fading to displeasure. Bill was mad over  _that_? He'd thought their matching outfits were cute, a staple of Team Lumberjack, and they may as well since they had a mutual interest in plaid. "I can't believe you'd betray me for the soulless ginger."

"Betray you?" he asked dryly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. It would make the situation worse, and he knew not to push it when Bill appeared already on edge over nothing more than his interaction with Wendy. "Seriously?"

"Be careful," she snorted, sarcasm in her voice. "I might steal your soul and keep it for myself, Dipper." While amusing, he was certain Bill wouldn't see it the same way.

As if that was the challenging reaction he'd been waiting for, Bill's hand beckoned accusingly toward Wendy. "See? She's a soul-sucking vampire, Pine Rose. And you're running around with her like some horny animal."

"Dude!" It was an offended, startled squeak, and Dipper was bristling at the accusation. "I'm  _not_." And he didn't appreciate Bill calling him a 'horny animal' over going out with his friends and sister today, especially with a tone so suspicious and angry. A group outing wasn't grounds to start calling names or tread the border of implying he was a cheater.

And suddenly, there was a pillow smacking into his face, then falling into his lap. Looking up, Mabel hushed him and Bill, "Shhh! I wanna hear the movie, guys!" Although Dipper was happy to quiet down for her, he doubted Bill would feel the same about the matter; it would be nice if Stan stepped in to shut down the impending argument before it grew out of hand, but he appeared to be trying to ignore the conversation to the best of his ability without so much as a glance in their direction. Bill had been right: for the most part, Stan and Ford simply let him do whatever without punishment, like they didn't care anymore after perhaps trying to correct him in the past. They looked… exhausted with the ordeal.

Bill scoffed. "Hey Shooting Star, you'd get some better action if you actually got your girlfriend to moan." Dipper shot Bill a look, wondering why he was going after Mabel now. Had his job left him in a bad mood?

Or maybe it was just Wendy's presence, the fact that she was here setting him off. If it was that… he wanted to facepalm. This little grudge Bill had against her needed to end if they were going to work together as a crew.

"Shut up and let me watch the porn!" Mabel replied, but she didn't sound upset about the insult. "This girl," she jabbed a thumb at herself proudly, "is about to get new tips and tricks, sucka!"

"How to  _sink_ disappointment into your significant other: take lessons from the  _Tit-anic_."

Stan snickered, leading Dipper to wonder if he'd secretly been listening the entire time. "No wonder you're such a bad lay, Bill." That had Ford looking up quizzically from his book, peering between Stan, Bill, then him and Wendy, as if they had the answers to this strange situation. When he and Ford shared a puzzled glance, Ford's attention switched to the television screen where  _Tit-anic_ played, his cheeks pinkening. Quicker than ever, he was returning to the textbook again, face so close to the page that he may as well be trying to absorb its contents into his brain.

But nevertheless, Stan's goading wouldn't help matters. "Bill, you're not a bad lay," it was a quiet reassurance, said through a tired exhale. Mentally, he was pleading to let this one slide since Dipper didn't want this to turn into an all-out brawl between his friends, and that seemed to be the type of remark he would take too far.

Bill did look murderous, like he wanted to put a bullet in Stan's throat for that comment. Dipper wouldn't be surprised if he tried. Nervous, his fingers twitched as he wanted to do more to calm Bill, but it would probably give away their relationship status to the onlookers because physical affection was much different than emotional tenderness. "I'm the best lay, the only other person that doesn't suck at a good fuck is Pine Tree here."

A dissenting noise escaped him, sounding a little whinier than he'd thought it would. Bill wasn't on the warpath, that was what happened to be important right now, and he was hoping they'd be able to sit in peace for the rest of the movie.

Even if they were watching satirical porn. It was awkward, but at least the soundtrack was okay. Busying himself with his sketchbook, he relaxed halfway into the sofa, halfway into Bill's side. If nothing else, hopefully this would show him that he wasn't intending to  _run off_ with Wendy or something equally ridiculous.

After a while, he could feel Bill's hand move to his inner thigh, sensually drifting inward until he realized what he was about to do, and Dipper smacked it away with a huffy look, luckily before anybody seemed to notice his groping. "This movie sucks."

He hissed, "Doesn't mean you get to feel me up."

"We should do something  _fun._ C'mon cutie, you know you want it."

"Actually, this movie has been more of a turn off than anything." In a group setting, it wasn't intended to be erotic as far as he could tell. The others—Mabel, Stan, and Wendy (Ford wanted nothing to do with this)—were poking fun at it, not watching it seriously, which made sense when it was incredibly lame.

Bill gave him a sad look, golden-blue eyes pleading. "We could make this exciting, doll. Don't blueball me."

In more appropriate circumstances, it may have been harder to resist, but this was an easy one. "Nope, not in front of everyone." It was as if he was ignoring their surroundings and the people gathered on the same sectional, but it was possible he was perhaps fully aware. Bill didn't seem to come equipped with the modesty that most did.

Apparently, they hadn't been speaking as quietly as he'd hoped they were, because Wendy teased with a shoulder punch, "Aw, come on. Depriving us of the live show?"

Flushing, he anxiously laughed and drew his knees in tighter. "I mean— uh, y'know… it's just kind of," he motioned and cleared his throat, tripping over his words, "weird, thinking about doing… that, with you guys watching."

His embarrassed response only had Wendy laughing. "Hey, man. Don't sweat it. I was just joking."

Bill made a low growling noise, and he threw his arm protectively around Dipper. "You can listen, but you can't watch Pine Tree being fucked."

"Worried I'll steal your friend with benefits away using my immortal  _vampire_ soul?" Wendy waved a hand in their direction, faintly grinning. "But chill, dude. Nobody wants to see that," she said, then shrugged, "no offense Dipper."

"Please," Bill's lip curled, more venom in his voice than what he would expect since they were all friends here. Maybe. "You'd love to see my dick again, fantasize about it being you fucked instead." Uncomfortably, Dipper shifted where he sat, nudging Bill with his elbow in an attempt to suggest possibly backing down.

"Nah," she replied with her signature mild nonchalance, "just the one time was enough."

"Shhh!" Mabel hushed them again, eyes locked to the television screen glowing in the darkness, as she watched the two ladies get it on with a man. "They're getting to the good part! Look at that guy's huge—"

Yeah, Dipper was going to pass on that.

Bill was glaring at Wendy, his grip around Dipper tightening. "I bet Tambry and Nate could agree with that. _One time_  in a crew with you and it was destroyed."

There was a dangerous tone to Bill's voice, and although he didn't really understand the comment despite the names being vaguely familiar, the effect it had on Wendy was frightening. For once, it had thrown her off, her face draining of color and eyes distant, glassy. When she spoke again, it was sort of a warble, lacking the standard confidence. "Not cool, dude."

Stan whirled to turn on Bill, and Dipper had never seen him move so quickly. "Bill," he snarled. "Ya better shut the fuck up now, or I'll  _make_  you. You know that subject is off limits and I'm not going to stand for your bullshit because you're jealous Dipper's getting attention from your ex-hookup."

Ford was also visibly peeved by his too-personal jab, eyes narrowed as they bore into Bill. It looked like he wanted to speak, but Bill didn't give him the opportunity.

"I'm not  _jealous_ ," Bill snapped. "I'm not going to apologize to a discount whore who can't even protect her friends."

"Out." Stan was leaving no room for arguments as he loomed over Bill, his broader and more muscular physique intimidating. "Leave the penthouse. You're uninvited for the rest of the evening."

"And we'll be talking about this at length upon your return," Ford added sternly, adjusting his glasses and wincing lightly when a six-fingered hand grazed over the bandages on his face. When there was a moment of silence, of deadness in the penthouse in which nobody moved, nobody dared to breathe, that prompted him to add, "You heard Stanley. Out! What are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?"

Bill nearly spat at him, fury palpable. "Unlike your brother, I'm not into old men kissing me." He was moving to get off the couch, stalking to the door. "You can fuck off. All of you." The door swung open, only to slam behind him, the pictures of fluffy similar-looking cats lined along the wall rattling from the force.

As Bill was leaving the penthouse, he couldn't help but notice Mabel's intense stare on him, her eyes abnormally huge. When it seemed she had his attention, she started tilting her head toward the door, the suggestion obvious. Dipper frowned, but that encouraged her to do it harder,  _insisting_ he follow Bill and make amends.

It was simply…

Dipper wasn't keen on the idea. The air was awkward and tense in the penthouse, but he wasn't fond of piling into a vehicle with Bill, who was in a bad mood and needed space to recollect. Literally. He was probably going to go on a drive and look at his stars to calm himself.

Besides, they were dating, but that didn't mean he was responsible for Bill's actions. Bill had to answer to his own consequences, and while he did want to help him be a better person, it wasn't his job to guide him every step when he all but catapulted himself over a defined boundary for no reason other than to antagonize Wendy.

Yet Mabel's stare was unwavering. Unforgiving.

And Dipper felt his resolve crumbling— he couldn't deny her and figured he may as well go if she was going to do that the whole time. Setting his art supplies to a side and rising from the sofa, he started toward the door but was stopped when Stan stepped in his way. "Where do ya think you're goin'?"

"With Bill?" Dipper asked, blinking in confusion at Stan's disapproval. Bill wasn't on the best terms with the crew, but he didn't see why he couldn't use this opportunity to talk to him about what'd happened, and he tried to wriggle around Stan's bulky form. He could feel fingers curl around the collar of his shirt, halting him.

"No, you're not. Get back to the couch, kid. Enjoy the movie."

"What, why not?"

He was pulled back from the door, toward the couch. "'Cause I said so."

Dipper's eyebrow raised. "You sound like my dad." He internally scolded himself for saying that, but it'd slipped out, and now he was helpless to the sharp sting of grief that sunk into him. If he hadn't been too busy wallowing in the sadness, he may have noticed that he'd attracted Ford's attention with his statement.

"Yeah, well. Go sit down." Under his breath, Stan muttered something about how his dad would ditch, or beat him out the door— he didn't quite catch it, whatever it was. Another phrase he didn't understand, his father hadn't been absent in his life.

Walking past the wall window on his way back to the couch, his mind wandered, wishing he knew where Bill was headed, what he was doing. Smoking up a storm and looking at his stars, feeling sorry for himself if Dipper had to guess, but he would give him a while to cool off before he attempted any communication.

Although he tried to forget about the incident and daydream instead since the movie was of interest and he preferred drawing throughout the time it played, it wasn't long before Wendy, now composed, had mentioned she was leaving despite the protests. She looked okay, better than she had before, but it still evidently bothered her.

After her departure, his phone buzzed in his lap, and he was convinced it would be Bill. Maybe it was sort of a disappointment when it wasn't, and he saw a message from Mabel.

 **(9:26 PM)**   _Dipper!_

 **(9:26 PM)**   _DIPPER!_

 **(9:26 PM)**   _DIPPER! DIPPER! DIPPER!_

 **(9:26 PM)**  ?

 **(9:27 PM)**  What's wrong?

It didn't  _look_ like anything was wrong. She'd been watching the pornographic film with the others, trying to lighten the mood with corny jokes about the acting and the plot, then succumbing to her bursts of giggles.

 **(9:27 PM)**   _You need to fulfill your destiny and go after your man! Now is your chance to shine and show him you're a worthy boyfriend!_

Oh. That again. He didn't know how long Bill had been gone, hadn't been keeping track of time, but for all they knew he wasn't even in Los Santos anymore.

 **(9:27 PM)**  He can handle himself

 **(9:27 PM)**   _That's not important right now, you HAVE to talk to him! Conflict KILLS couples! And crime gangs!_

 **(9:28 PM)**  I mean that's not necessarily true..

 **(9:28 PM)**  There isn't conflict in our relationship

 **(9:29 PM)**   _Maaaaybe there WILL BE if you don't talk to him_

 **(9:29 PM)** _He's pissed, Dippy!_

 **(9:30 PM)**  Yeah, I know, but it's not like I can do anything

 **(9:30 PM)**  You heard Stan, he doesn't want me to leave

 **(9:30 PM)**   _Sneak out ;)_

 **(9:30 PM)**  Behind Stan's back?

 **(9:30 PM)**  Mabel, I don't know...

 **(9:31 PM)**   _More like MABEL, YES_

 **(9:31 PM)** _Come on bro bro, do it_

 **(9:32 PM)**  I'm already kind of on thin ice with him

 **(9:32 PM)**   _I'll provide a distraction!_

 **(9:33 PM)**   _I got your back, Broster!_

 **(9:33 PM)**   _I'll tell him you went out for tacos, just remember to pick some up for Stan! He won't even CARE where you were when you come back with takeout. He loves food more than I do!_

A distraction was a comical solution at best, one he didn't see working when it would be against the collectively bright minds of Stan and Ford. It was unlikely it'd succeed, but he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't at least let Mabel try her plan, because it appeared she wouldn't be giving up in her attempts to resolve the conflict hovering in the air.

 **(9:34 PM)**  I guess we can see how it goes

Quite frankly, he wasn't sure it would result in anything more than increasing Stan's annoyance with him and was under the impression he'd be stuck here a while, but there was no reason to shoot down Mabel's idea.

 **(9:34 PM)**   _It will succeed! Trust me!_

Almost immediately, he heard the sound of Mabel plopping her phone on the table. "Ford!" She had her attention on him. "Whatcha reading?"

Pushing his glasses up, Ford lowered the book to blink at Mabel, looking surprised by her interest in it. "It's an insightful take on advanced theoretical physics. The author is rather controversial, but I find her ideas fascinating regardless of their merit."

"Sounds nerdy!" she chirped, and without skipping a beat, she snatched the book from him and hopped off the couch. Ford, in all his flushed glory, hardly processed what'd happened until a second later, utterly confounded by this perplexing turn of events.

"Ah, Mabel! Give that back at once!" He rose from his spot. "I didn't realize you were so intrigued by the subject, and while that is quite reassuring of the nation's youth," Ford followed after her quickly, pace increasing when he realized she wasn't going to give up, "I— I might suggest finding your own copy from a library or perhaps a local bookstore! Additionally, you're holding the book incorrectly, and recent studies have proven it's more effective to read at a forty-five degree angle—"

This… was Mabel's distraction idea? Okay, it was sort of funny to watch, he would give her credit for that, but he didn't think it'd allow for a grand escape from the penthouse under Stan's careful eye.

Dipper watched the two weave between the sectional sofa, through the small kitchen, then around the baby grand. This was probably his chance to leave, the distraction Mabel had promised, and it was working better than he thought it would when Stan was chanting, 'fight, fight, fight!' and Ford was too busy with Mabel to notice anything but his stolen book.

Stan chuckled, his attention seemingly on Mabel and his brother. "Ford, ya do sound like a nerd!"

"Mabel was referring to my  _textbook_ , Stanley!" Ford shot over his shoulder in a huff, dodging furniture to try to keep up with Mabel and snatch his book back. "Not me."

"At this point, it might as well be the same thing!" Stan laughed, watching as Mabel continued to evade Ford's attempts at retrieving the book. "This is gold! I'm gonna get my camera!"

With that as his cue, Dipper waited until Ford's back was turned to scuttle across the room, slipping out the door quietly. Standing in the hall outside the penthouse, he heard muffled noises from the other side: Stan's narrating as if it was a boxing match, Mabel's squeals, and Ford's frustrated grumping. Entertaining while it lasted, but he wasn't going to give them an opportunity to notice something was amiss.

Uncertain of how Bill would respond or if he was still upset about earlier, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and typed to him:

 **(9:38 PM)**  Hi

 **(9:38 PM)**  Are you around?

 **(9:39 PM)**  I kind of sneaked out

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _look out, there's a rogue pine tree loose_

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _did you get bored of how shitty everyone else is compared to me?_

 **(9:40 PM)**  I wanted to talk to you

 **(9:40 PM)**  Better not be texting and driving

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _no promises :)_

Dipper bit back a sigh. While he hoped Bill was watching the stars and not operating a vehicle, he didn't seem to abide by traffic laws regardless of whether they put him or others into danger. They'd deal with it later.

Leaving the hallway and heading downstairs, he went out the garage and into the gentle heat of the night. It was a nice evening, but a shame it had to be interrupted with the fighting between Bill and Wendy.

 **(9:41 PM)**  Just pick me up, I left the penthouse and am in front of the building

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _only if you take off your clothes when you see my hot ride_

 **(9:41 PM)**  You finally got a car that isn't an eyesore?

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _fuck you_

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _my cars are fucking gorgeous_

 **(9:42 PM)**  And I reiterate: eyesore

Although he was teasing Bill, he figured he could give him at least a tiny compliment while he was shredding his taste in yellow sports cars.

 **(9:42 PM)**  At least in comparison to you

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _i almost want to not pick you up for insulting my cars_

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _little shit_

 **(9:43 PM)**  Tell me if you aren't because it's Los Santos and I'm standing outside at night

 **(9:43 PM)**  I already feel like I'm five seconds away from getting mugged

It was an exaggeration, but not entirely far from the mark either. If Bill wasn't going to be here in the next ten minutes, it'd be in his best interest to wait inside until he was, since a skinny kid like him would be seen as an easy target when he was unarmed and had no means of defending himself.

Despite that, the night was peaceful. There was hardly anybody around, just the city lights and street lamps, the occasion car zooming past that offered an alternative background noise to the buzz of neon signs.

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _it's cool i'll mug you first_

 **(9:43 PM)**  I don't feel safe

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _you will when you're in my bed naked :)_

 **(9:44 PM)**  Stop texting and driving

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _no_

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _whoops i hit an old lady_

Stomach twisting in tight knots, Dipper seriously hoped he was joking about that.

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _i'll be there soon cutie_

Refusing to text Bill anything more to ensure he wouldn't be tempted to respond while operating the vehicle, Dipper paced along the sidewalk as he waited, thoughts swimming with ideas of how to approach the subject of Wendy with Bill. It would have to be discussed, there was no way around it.

Minutes later, a familiar golden vehicle sped into the road, slowing to a stop beside him as the window rolled down. "Hey, cutie."

Approaching, Dipper raised an eyebrow and leaned against the car. "I swear to god, if you ask me 'how much for a blowjob' I'm going to walk back inside."

"Is it five dollars?"

Eyes scanning over Bill, he hummed contemplatively and said, "I think it'd take about two thousand to get me to blow you."

"You're ripping yourself off, cutie. I'd give you five thousand for a blow and some anal."

Dipper snorted. "I bet that's pocket change for a rich boy like you." It wouldn't make a dent in Bill's funds, which couldn't be protested when the evidence was perched on the road beside him. His army of gold vehicles didn't come cheap, and their upkeep had to be expensive because he wasn't the most careful driver.

He chuckled. "Well, in Los Santos it's cab fare since they're basically robbing you. Sixty dollars for a ten minute ride, what the fuck."

"Try public transport," he suggested, walking toward the hood and sliding over it, mentally taking note that there was no sign of old lady blood. It was a definite relief, and he climbed into the passenger seat.

"Have you been on a bus?" he demanded, throwing the car in drive. They pulled a U-turn, and one right turn later they were on a busier street.

"Yeah," he said, "I used to take the buses and subways around San Andreas. I have the routes memorized." That was common knowledge among the Owls of Anarchy, or at least he'd thought it was after inquiries regarding his navigational skills. He knew the city like the back of his hand after living here his entire life and scaling it using alternative transportation options, since he didn't have a driver's license.

Bill glanced at him. "Did the used, rusty needles in the back not bother you in the slightest? If I'm gonna get poked, I'd rather it be because I did it myself, not because some tweaker decided to leave their shit all over."

A shudder passing through Dipper, he frowned. "It wasn't that bad. This city has a lot of problems, yeah, but it's not as filthy as you're making it out to be."

The frown deepened as he leaned back in the seat and remembered the main topic they needed to address, but he realized Bill was in fairly okay spirits after what'd happened. With how he left things, Dipper had thought he'd be stepping into a warzone… a smoky warzone, it was Bill. Intrigued, he asked, "You weren't stress smoking earlier, after the stuff with Wendy?" The scent of spicy honey was in the air, not tobacco. "You actually smell  _nice_ for a change."

Bill shrugged. "I already smoked my last cigarette during the heist, cutie."

Although he didn't recall that, he was happy to hear it nonetheless. "Wait, so you don't smoke anymore?" Brightening, Dipper added, "Dude, that's great." The car barreled through a red light, and his expression fell into annoyance again at the reckless behavior, shooting a glare in Bill's direction. "Stop trading one bad habit for another."

"None of my habits are bad," Bill objected. "It's not my fault I'm too skilled for you."

"Have you just been driving dangerously the whole evening? I would've been with you sooner and tried to leave a while ago," he explained, shrugging his shoulders, "but Stan didn't want me to."

He huffed. "Of course Mr. 'Dumps-us-out-and-leaves-us-to-the-cops'," Dipper tensed at the memory, "wouldn't want you to. The guy already tried to kill us, why would he want you giving me company when it's clear that would've been nice?"

Considering how often it emerged in conversation recently, it was safe to deduce that it bothered Bill, and Dipper also felt uneasy about the lack of compassion from an otherwise kind gang. Being thrown to the cops had been a nightmare.

Fiddling with his hands in his lap, he shuffled his weight uncomfortably, remembering how Stan had ditched them in an alley with no place to go. Their escape was a stroke of luck. "Yeah, I know. I mean, I get why he did it, but I don't think he should have." If they hadn't been thinking on their feet, they would have spent their last moments in the alley between a burning building and a shootout with the Los Santos police. "It was… crueler than I'd expect from him?" he spoke tentatively. "Stan seems like he wants the best for me and Mabel, but I don't know."

"He's never been a good leader," Bill argued. "He doesn't give two shits about anyone but himself and Fordsy. He only cares about you and Shooting Star because he thinks he can get shit out of you, like your family's inheritance."

"Our inheritance isn't much compared to what he makes," Dipper pointed out, "not that I know exactly how much there is, but I can't imagine it's a lot. What would he want with  _that_?"

His response was a scoff. "The guy's obsessed with making money, have you met him? It doesn't matter how much is there, it's  _money_."

"If that was what he wanted, he could've taken it by now." Dipper didn't care if he did, regardless of the amount, since he wasn't intending on leaving the Owls or Bill. Besides, he didn't know how he'd enjoy money passed to him over after parents' murders, the thought was upsetting. Dismissing the subject with a shake of his head, he went on, "But it doesn't matter. Do you really think he only cares about us for… monetary reasons?" It seemed selfish, too selfish for Stan.

"He's not in their will," Bill reminded him. "If we weren't helping him get money, why the fuck would he keep us here, cutie? He's made it clear when we weren't getting along– risking  _his_  chance of earning some profit, we were expendable." Although it was unfortunate, it was true. Punishing them with potential death had been extreme for simply turning off their headsets when they'd saved the crew anyway.

Stirring Dipper from his thoughts, Bill stated, "That's not a leader I want."

Curious, he asked, "What kind of leader  _do_  you want? There can't be many decent options among the criminal underbelly of Los Santos." Their pool was limited when it was encompassing individuals who already disregarded the law. The timing couldn't have been more perfect as they passed a highway billboard for Jock Cranley's gubernatorial campaign, and he commented, "I guess the rest of the city doesn't have winners to choose from either."

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "Me! I'd be the perfect leader for our crew." While he'd been about to reply to that, Bill glanced toward the billboard and mentioned, "I don't know cutie, that guy seems swell."

"Wow, it's amazing how quickly I've lost all respect for you," he said and made a face. "Are you serious? Jock Cranley?"

"We have similar ideals," he argued. "Why shouldn't I?"

Unimpressed, he told Bill, "Have you heard some of his speeches? And it's common knowledge that he literally killed his own wife by throwing her over a cliff while they were hiking together."

"My kind of man. I'd share a beer with him. Probably wouldn't go hiking with him, though." Rolling his eyes, their political differences weren't a surprise to Dipper since he'd known they didn't share a stance on several issues, but he didn't push it. This was one of those things in which they'd never agree on, and realistically, it didn't matter with Bill's odd voting habits.

Returning to an earlier point of interest, Dipper asked, "About before… Would you actually want to lead the Owls? You seem to have personal issues with like, every member." Wendy, most notably, and he still didn't understand the one-sided dislike. Soos was to an extent, and Ford tended to get on Bill's nerves. Stan… he'd thought they were friends, but friends wouldn't ditch each other like that.

"I do," he insisted. "I'll put those ones in their place as leader. Unlike Stan, no one except you can talk back to me. It'll be wonderful. Besides, I know some people who can be valuable assets."

"Look, as much as I think you'd be a proficient leader, Wendy and Soos don't need to be put in their place, if there is a such thing," he said flatly. "That's ridiculous. Wendy is great, and Soos… uh, he's clumsy, sometimes, but he holds his own."

"He caught himself on fire, the fire  _they started_. That's not holding his own. And Red? She's a loose end– unreliable, untrustworthy. If anyone's going to betray us it'll be her."

"I don't know, she seems okay," he countered. "I don't see how getting rid of them would help anything. So, I guess you'd be a good leader, except for that." Namely, Bill's belligerent desire to remove those two from the crew.

Bill shook his head. "I didn't say I'd get rid of them, doll. Just… fix them."

Warily, he stared at Bill and said, "If you were the leader of the Owls, you'd have to be nicer to them, too." There was a pause, followed by a faint smile. "You're pretty charismatic, use it to inspire rather than manipulate, and then I think you'd have a loyal, competent crew going."

"Cutie," he said. "You know I'd behave. And protect you– I won't put you in a situation where you could die again if I was in charge. You won't be fucked over."

That was appealing, the thought of never feeling unsafe again, and he usually didn't around Bill. Dipper grinned a little. "Los Santos power couple?"

"Exactly, cutie. We'll run the fuck out of this city because we're the best."  _They_  were the best, not just Bill? That was new.

It reminded him of Wendy's description of her and Bill's previous sexual relationship, how he praised himself during sex and was uninterested in his partner- not too far off for the pure egomaniac that was Bill. Cheekily, Dipper said, "Remember when you were having sex with Wendy and kept moaning your own name and looking at the mirror on the ceiling? Good times."

Bill shot him a quick glance, and Dipper erupted into snickers. "Were you spying on us a year in advance?"

Playing along, he replied, "Yeah, I watched it go down and thought, 'hmm, I'd like a piece of that.'" And that happened to be Bill, not that they'd done anything too intimate lately. Or ever, except a few sexual favors here and there. As Bill would put it, they hadn't had sex  _for real_ , which seemed like a weird perspective to him but he didn't bother challenging the mindset.

Taking one of the highway's exits had Dipper wondering where they were going. "I mean, if you want into a threesome Red would probably be up for it. She's never been good at keeping those legs of hers closed."

Ignoring the fact he was uninterested in Wendy like that… "Would  _you_ want me to participate in a threesome?" he asked, eyebrows raised in surprise considering Bill had always seemed possessive of him. "I didn't know that was up for negotiation."

"It's not. If you agreed, I would've had to shut it down and lock you in my room so you couldn't sneak out."

"Aw," he mock-complained, "now I'll never get to sleep with my Bible-hating soulmate like you suggested I should." The thought wouldn't have occurred to him if Bill hadn't thrown out the comment during one of their previous fights, not that he had any interest in Ford.

Bill bristled. "Ford's life is sad. He can't even get it on with his own boyfriend half the time, he won't be sleeping with you."

Dipper hadn't realized Ford was dating anybody, and he narrowed his eyes at Bill as he wondered if that was leading into another unfounded jab at Stan and Ford. Shifting them back to the other subject, he said, "But no, I wasn't spying on you and Wendy. What happened to the mirror on your ceiling? Did you get tired of watching yourself have sex with friends and hookers, or more accurately, jack off in bed most of the time? Seriously. I know you think I'm asleep, but you actually make a lot of noise."

"That old thing? I replaced it with a fan." Bill reached over, jabbing him in the shoulder lightly. "You should join in more, you little fucker." He spoke affectionately, despite his scowl.

"If I joined you whenever you jacked off, I would probably end up with some major chafing." With some skepticism, he said, "Also, you don't have a ceiling fan." There was a skylight in its place.

Bill shrugged his point off. "A whale of a hooker broke it. She told me she was less than a hundred fifty pounds and that it could hold her weight, but the bitch lied."

Confused by his explanation, he tried to piece together how someone had broken the fan by using sheer weight. "Wait.. we're talking about the same thing, right? Like, a ceiling fan that—" Dipper made a spinning motion with his hand to illustrate what he was referring to.

"She was into erotic asphyxiation and wanted to use my ceiling fan to help her out. The fan and part of my ceiling came down on her fat ass. "

"Dude." Not shocking since Bill had heavily implied his own interest in breathplay, but still disturbing both in the events and Bill's recurring distaste for anyone who didn't fit within his self-made view of a healthy body.

Bill seemed to be lost in thought for a change. "Before that, I tried tying her to it to get her to spin around so I could fuck her in the air. It didn't work, but I guess that's because she lied about her weight, that damn slut. Glad she's dead. All she was useful for was inspiring the skylight, since the ceiling had a fuckton of damage from that and it couldn't repaired."

"I… I have so many questions. There's a lot to unpack here."

"Are you actually going to ask me any?"

"Uh, yeah?" If Bill was willing to answer, Dipper was going to ask, his curiosity unsatisfied with the questionable responses he'd gained from him so far. "Okay, let's start with this one: did she die because of your kinky, um… fun? And second, did you really tie a person to a ceiling fan?" Presumably for kinky reasons, breathplay and bondage, but it was still hard to wrap his mind around when his sexual experiences, already minimal, were quite vanilla.

Bill chuckled. "No and yes. She died not too long ago. She was a part of Red's old crew– Tambry, the one that was less edgy. Still a bad lay."

Flatly, he muttered, "I'm starting to think you were using the murder board as a checklist for your sexual exploits." Lee. Nate. Tambry. Then Wendy, who used to be a part of that crew from what he'd gathered, though she wasn't on the board. Who else had Bill jumped into bed with? "Aren't they supposed to be a rival gang? Why are you sort-of-figuratively sleeping with the enemy?"

"Don't worry your stars about that, cutie. Besides, they're dead. Who gives two shits?"

"So you've only slept with the ones that ended up dead? That… is kind of suspicious, to be honest."

"Red's not dead. Yet."

"She's not on the board." And he was pretty sure of that, though he hadn't seen the thing in a while- thank god for that, he thought it was more than a little creepy to be looking at a handful of deceased people labeled enemies.

"Give it a week."

Restlessly, he shifted his weight in the passenger seat, messing with the radio as he recomposed his thoughts. "Alright, um, this is sort of a weird question, but you know how they're wearing their masks on the murder board? Do they like, wear those all the time? Did you have sex with someone wearing a cat mask?" Tambry's, he was fairly certain. Making a face, he asked, "Or… dog masks?" Lee and Nate.

Bill laughed. "No, cutie! Those are mostly for jobs, to hide their identity from the pigs. Lee and Nate maybe fucked in costume, but otherwise no."

"You've seen them without their masks then." After saying that, he realized he'd seen one as well, Lee, but he shuddered at the memory of his bloody face popping up on Bill's phone screen. Trying to clear his mind of that mental image, he followed it up with a joking, "Who's the most attractive?"

"Overall or just the living?" Bill inquired.

"Both? I don't know." Didn't really care either because the question was for fun, it wasn't as if he was going to be having intimate moments with anybody in a rival gang.

"Owl Mask."

"Really. That soda-sipper?" Although it'd been a while, he could still envision the guy's image on the murder board: someone in an owl mask with a soda straw going through the beak, overall remained unintimidating for rival gang standards. It was hard to forget about him too, with Ford going off on tangents whenever he'd come up on news channels, ranting about how the Owls of Anarchy's precious identity had been stolen by this imposter.

"Yeah, I'd fuck him."

Playfully, he asked, "All I know is he apparently has killed tons of people," information supplied by Bill, "and confuses 'proper business attire' with 'wear an owl suit to work.' So tell me, what's he like?"

He glanced at him, as if mentally sizing him up. "Cute boys like you."

A chortle escaping him, Dipper questioned that with an amused, "Are you suggesting we should hook up?"

It was far from serious, as indicated by his light tone, but it didn't seem Bill was fond of his joke. "No!" Bill huffed almost angrily. "You're  _mine_ , Pine Tree. You're not getting with anyone except me."

While slightly stunned by the force of the reply, he shrugged. "Well, if we ever cross paths, I guess that means Owl Mask will be pretty disappointed when I turn him down because I'm happily taken." Risking his relationship with Bill wasn't worth it, though he didn't think he'd feel inclined to cheat to begin with.

"He'd better be," Bill muttered. " _Owl_  make it known to him that you are mine and only mine."

"Oh my god." They were going to have to have a talk about these puns, possibly set some boundaries and ground rules, but that would have to wait until after he was able to stop grinning like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be Sunday, in which they tackle the conflict surrounding Wendy and hopefully don't forget to pick up tacos for Stan.
> 
> Speaking of Stan, remember the time he abandoned Bill and Dipper on a heist? [Here's the aftermath](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/178294363657/ill-give-them-shelter-like-youve-done-for-me), if you're interested in some bonus content. There are backstory spoilers.


	29. Chapter 29

More idle conversation passed, and it gradually occurred to him that Bill was driving them to a coffee shop, his suspicions confirmed when he placed their standard orders and had them refill the familiar mugs. Although he was tempted to challenge this pitstop, as Bill was the one who'd declared coffee runs were over, he decided to hold his tongue. It was in Dipper's best interest to avoid creating a rift between them when there were more important topics to discuss, the reason he'd been convinced to join Bill to begin with.

Having urged Bill into a decent mood again, it would be possible to approach the subject and measure his willingness to chat about Wendy, but he'd have to be careful about keeping him in good spirits if this was going to end well.

Now, their coffees were almost diminished, and they were driving through the countryside on the outskirts of Los Santos. Mindlessly thumping his heel on the flooring of the car, he waited until there was a lull in the conversation, and then he asked, "Do you want to talk about earlier?" If he was vehemently opposed, he knew better than to think this would be a fruitful discussion.

"Earlier?" Bill gave him a questioning glance. "I thought we made it clear earlier I'd be the best leader."

They had to an extent, but this was different. "What you said to Wendy, getting kicked out of the penthouse, why you flipped out over… us spending time together? Take your pick." Well, they were sort of all the same, but maybe the illusion of choice would facilitate progress if he could get Bill to select one.

Bill visibly tensed, looking genuinely uncomfortable for a change. It wasn't often he saw true distress on someone who didn't understand the gravity of most situations. "I'd rather not talk about Ice Bag, cutie." This was going to be difficult. Maybe a new approach was in order when he didn't want to force him to talk about it, being an evidently touchy subject, though he didn't know why it was off limits between them. Curiosity internally yelled at him to find out.

"You don't have to. I could talk first, and you can respond only if you want?" Dipper suggested, gaze frantically searching Bill's face in an attempt to read his emotions, but he was stoic beyond his features twisted in hesitation.

When a protest didn't come, he cleared his throat and said, "About being with Wendy today… I didn't know that'd be an issue. It wasn't when we all went to the pier." Though that outing resulted in disaster for unrelated reasons, the dynamic hadn't changed between Bill and Wendy from then until today, even if it had between him and Bill. "Is it because you and I are dating? I know Wendy joked about stealing me from you, but I hope you know that it wouldn't happen." Wendy was a good friend, but not someone he was interested in romantically, so Bill didn't have anything to worry about.

"You don't know her like I do, Pine Rose." The tender nickname had his heart beating faster, attention fully on Bill, but he was looking straight ahead. Probably for the best to have Bill's gaze on the road. "She's like… Fordsy's giant bird, she'll try to swoop you away from me."

In an effort to ease his mind, Dipper jumped to reassuring him, "I think I already said nothing would keep me away from you, and that includes Wendy, dude. You're…" a sigh, and he looked away with minor embarrassment as he confessed, "really important to me, and I don't want to sacrifice that." Upon recalling the times Bill would get possessive of him, he murmured earnestly, "Only yours, Bill."

"What happens if she succeeds?" he inquired, and Dipper shook his head because it wouldn't be a reality they'd need to face. "That whore cheats on whoever she wants, and everyone else always fucking defends her."

"I'm loyal to  _you_ , I'm not going to— wait, what? ...What does that mean?" They hadn't been talking about Wendy cheating, so he was puzzled by the sudden comment.

"Nothing." He appeared to give it pause, then scowled upon realizing his own words. "Just that she's a lying slut and you shouldn't let her get close to you. She's bad news, doll."

"You'll have to elaborate," he said as he sensed an opening for information, "because I have no idea what most of that means. Like, the more you've talked about this, the more confused I've become." And he was pretty sure his goal had been to receive answers, not build a new pile of questions. "Did… she cheat on you? You know I won't do that, right?"

Bill stared at him, the car swerving dangerously, and Dipper's grip tightened on the console as his eyes went wide. He'd definitely preferred it when Bill's attention was on the road. "She… we… it's–"

They were practically bouncing between the lines, and he squeaked with an edge of terror, "Um, not that I don't want to hear where this is going, but do we need to stop?"

"No. We're not stopping." His voice started off as firm, but grew quieter. "She came up with some bullshit about how she was in an open relationship, and how she 'wasn't really into me' after we fucked." In a murmur Dipper could hardly hear, he added, "I loved that cunt licker." Although he kind of wished he hadn't heard that very last part, the rest was… simultaneously interesting and a relief, but it didn't help uncomplicate matters.

"Yeah, she told me that," he replied. "I guess she doesn't do monogamy." Wendy had said something about it not being for her, and mentioned she liked the more casual open relationship with consenting, aware partners. "Sorry that she wasn't into you. It sucks, but would you have wanted that? Being in an open relationship, I mean." It was unrealistic to expect Wendy to change solely for him when there was nothing wrong with open relationships or monogamous dating habits - it was a preference.

"You wouldn't catch me dead in an open relationship."

Dipper still didn't understand one aspect of this. Bill had brought up cheating, therefore the implication of a romantic relationship. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "You dated her?"

"We didn't  _actually_  date, but we did in my head. That counts, doesn't it?" Dipper raised a skeptical eyebrow. "She would've fucking loved me if she gave me the chance. Instead she got it on with the Gothic pussy."

"Oh." Then Dipper brightened a little. "Hey, I know that guy!" The meeting had been brief, but he'd given him the creeps. Good thing he was the F-team of the Owls, as Bill had described it, since it seemed to mean he wasn't invited on heists. Giving it thought ushered in new reasons to be perplexed by that, so he said, "I thought inter-crew relationships weren't allowed." Assuming it was a relationship.

"Who the fuck listens to that rule?"

Looking between them, Dipper shuffled in his seat, rubbing his arms. "Right." They were sort of a part of that statistic, hiding the true nature of their relationship from Stan and Ford in case they forced its dissolution or prevented him from joining the Owls, maybe barring him from future heists.

Steering the conversation back to its original topic, Dipper cleared his throat and clarified, "That's what the problem is with you and Wendy? You had feelings for her, she didn't return them, and now… it's—?" An awkward mess, mostly spurred by Bill being needlessly rude to her.

"I'm not the bad guy," Bill said quietly. "She betrayed me, Pine Tree. She deserves hell."

Sympathetic but uncertain, Dipper hesitantly said, "You don't need to be resentful. Getting rejected is the worst, but you can move on, right? You're both happily in relationships, so..." he trailed off, squirming. "Unless, you're uh, still…" there was a lump in his throat, "feeling like that for her?"

Bill's initial reaction was a short laugh and washed away the flood of insecurity. "No, no! I just fucking  _hate her_  for that. She hasn't done anything to redeem herself either, that slut."

"She doesn't have to redeem herself for that," Dipper reminded him. "That's… totally within her rights, and wouldn't you rather get a rejection than being led on? It's nice that she was upfront with you and didn't waste either of your time, but I still get how that can suck." Lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug, he said nonchalantly, "It seems like you two were sort of incompatible anyway, with Wendy preferring open relationships and you sticking to monogamous ones." And how they were around each other now… it was shudder-worthy. It was a constant fight, but probably wouldn't be if Bill didn't start in on the demeaning jabs toward Wendy's character. When unprovoked, Wendy was indifferent to Bill.

An angry huff escaped him, and he glanced away with an expression of displeasure. "We could've taken over the Owls and Los Santos years ago, if that bitch was loyal and didn't reject me." Hearing that made his blood run cold, discomfort creeping within him, settling like a stone.

"So... uh," there was a tiny, pained laugh, then he coughed awkwardly, "that's something you want to do with all your romantic interests?" Of course it wasn't specific to him, he'd been foolish to think that in the first place when he hadn't been in the business long enough to know anything about anything. He was just Bill's partner, a temporary fixture and a shadow in the background, not someone who he genuinely saw as a useful asset in forging a concrete empire. Wringing his hands together and swallowing thickly, he confessed, "Kind of thought that stuff was our thing, but I know it was dumb, and… and you don't have to say why." It was no mystery, he was already aware how naive it'd been to believe that, to believe in Bill thinking he was special or different than others who were leagues above him in talent and knowledge.

It was a familiar feeling to be back again to nothing more than a stupid kid, an embarrassment to himself and everybody around him.

"Oh, cutie, don't worry! We're the Real Power Couple here, since Ice Bag was a waste of my time." Bill flashed him a grin, but it didn't fill him with the usual spark of joy. "The city's gonna tremble beneath us."

The concept of being a 'power couple' left a bitter taste in his mouth when he saw it as an empty gesture. It wasn't specific to him, Bill would take whoever he could get. With a crestfallen sigh and a disinterested 'yeah', he redirected his focus out the window, collapsing into the interior door to stare blankly ahead.

It was a cycle of disappointment and berating himself for dumbly believing in this distant dream. Disappointment came in waves, the reminder that it didn't mean anything, never had meant anything to Bill, then the berating would follow— he was supposed to be smart. He knew Bill was ambitious and chased after his own goals, obviously he'd be nothing more than a cog in the bigger system.

The car took a sharp turn, and it caused Dipper to bump his head on the glass of the window, wincing, while Bill let out a low hum of amusement, though it didn't seem to be directed at him since he was facing forward. "Hey, sugar, you there? You didn't react to that."

React to what? Hitting his head on the window? "It didn't hurt that bad." It'd given him a painful headache, but that would probably fade in a few hours.

"Well, they dodged our car, so no, it didn't. Maybe I should turn around and wipe them out."

Oh. Although momentarily puzzled, Dipper pieced together why they'd turned abruptly and Bill's current fascination with almost hitting someone. Interesting where his priorities were, but he couldn't exactly fault him. "I'm glad they're okay," he offered noncommittally, "whoever that was."

Bill glanced at him with curious eyes. "Are you okay, doll? Your head smacked into that window pretty loudly."

"I think so. Can't quite place your name though." How he wished he had amnesia, maybe he could forget the last five minutes of their drive. Ignorance had been bliss, thinking he was a unique aspect of their power couple arrangement. No, he was merely replaceable. A placeholder until something better came along.

"Guess I gotta leave you in a dumpster now, you're broken." It was a joke, maybe, but Bill's dry humor didn't land.

Flatly, he muttered, "Hm, threatening me. That sounds more like Bill Cipher than actually caring about how I'm doing." It was a little out of line. A lot out of line, but he was… hurt, quite frankly, in a way he wasn't completely sure how to express without coming across as immature. Not that he was doing much better now.

Bill's eyebrow raised at him. "Hey, I was trying to check on you. If you think me idly commenting on leaving you in a dumpster is a  _threat_ , then maybe you should go back to–"

"–to the nursery like the sapling I am?" Dipper interjected bitterly, using Bill's words while a vivid memory surfaced. It was vaguely similar to this conversation: Bill had been telling him he wasn't suited for gangster life, calling him names, cutting him down unnecessarily.

"Yeah," Bill snapped. "I don't know why the fuck you bothered to come with me if all you're going to do is give me attitude."

"That's another thing," he started, "I don't know where we're going. You're driving around Los Santos halfway into the night and I was along for the ride because I thought I could turn this into a make-you-better moment with how you've been treating Wendy like shit." And yet that had fallen through with Bill refusing to recognize his behavior was inappropriately harsh, but he was having a hard time focusing on that when it seemed Bill didn't really care for  _him_. He cared for the idea of having someone to take over the city with.

Bill visibly bristled. "I  _was_  driving to stay calm since I can't smoke, and I was going to eventually pick up another round of coffee for us, but it seems you've decided to ruin this ride by wanting to  _fix_  me. I'm not fucking broken,  _Mason_. Hating someone isn't a sign of being  _broken_  or needing to be  _fixed_  and if you honestly believe that, you can get out of my car. Right now."

Morbid curiosity had him measuring the feasibility, but they were going too fast to allow him to actually get out and live through the experience in one piece. Gaze shifting to Bill, he said carefully, "Look, it's not that I think you're broken. I think.. it would be healthier for you and the rest of the crew if you didn't attack Wendy every time she's around." The attacks were personal and intense, stepping over boundaries as had been seen tonight. It was the equivalent of attacking him over his parents' deaths, an unsaid line in the sand that he didn't think Bill would cross anymore.

He huffed, fingers squeezing the wheel, and the show of frustration made his stomach churn. "You haven't done anything to make me  _want_  to not make Ice Bag's life hell, Pine Tree. Half of this ride has been you giving me attitude, saying you only came because you want me to be  _better_."

Had he done that?

What he said did suggest he was actually here to correct Bill's earlier aggression, when it wasn't exactly his job to do so because dating Bill wasn't the equivalent of being his therapist or mentor or parent, and the idea had him shuddering in displeasure. "You're right, I shouldn't think of it like that." Bill could be better, and Dipper could help him achieve that, but he wasn't supposed to be his sole motivation or take it upon himself to 'fix' Bill. After seeing improvements in his demonstrations of empathy while they'd been together, he'd lost track of his place in Bill's life. "I— I guess it'd be better to say that you and Wendy are my friends, and I wish you wouldn't be so hard on her. I know your history with her is… uh, shaky, but ours is too."

Bill let out a grumble, looking displeased as his hands kept their tight grip around the steering wheel. "If it makes you happy," he muttered, "I'll… try to behave around her."

"I'm glad," it was questioning, traces of uncertainty clinging, "you're willing to be nicer. I'd appreciate that, and I think the others in the crew would too, just so.. things don't get awkward again because of it." Ending with Bill being kicked out of the penthouse and this mess of an evening. Ashamed of his previous actions and unable to bring himself to look at Bill, Dipper said quietly, "I hope—  _wish_  it was something you wanted, though. Don't be someone you don't want to be."

"It's not like I'm going to immediately jump into being okay with this," Bill reminded him. "It's exhausting, having to hold back to 'keep the fucking peace.'"

That definitely suggested Bill wasn't alright with this arrangement and was complying solely to appease him, and that didn't sit well. "It would make more sense if she intentionally hurt you, but I don't think she did? Wendy isn't going out of her way to make your life miserable," he frowned, "so you don't have to do that to her." If she was, it would still be a questionable move to make in retaliation.

Bill shifted in his seat, scowling angrily. "Her mere presence ruins my day. But what does it matter? I thought  _we_  were dating. You're supposed to be supportive of me, not the Red Defense Squad."

The reaction was a defensive, "I'm not being unsupportive!" Or… was he? It was difficult to be sure, and his mind was starting to feel like a scrambled mess. He wasn't on Bill's side in this particular case, but it wasn't as if he was actively defending Wendy either. "How would I support you in this? Cheer you on as you call her rude names? Join in on the unprovoked attacks? Tell me."

"Stop getting on my back about leaving her fucking alone," he snarled, anger dripping into his voice. "Do you honestly think  _demanding_  I change is making me want to?" Forcing him into an unwanted change wasn't his intention, he'd thought he made that clear, but it wasn't fair to ask him to stand on the sidelines while Bill was unnecessarily cruel to a friend through derogatory comments. It was the same old issue of respect reemerging, a common theme and problem area when it came to Bill.

"Or maybe you're just laying the groundwork for later when you need to save face because you find out you can't change." It was cold, but by the time the words were out, he was already sensing the first hints of regret.

"I've done a hell of a lot more changing than you have, you fucking piece of shit." Mind spinning again, insecurity drove deep into him as he wondered if that was true, if he hadn't changed at all. Two months were nothing in the grand scheme of things, which was why he had his doubts about Bill's amended behavior and its permanence, yet he thought he'd made significant strides in broadening his worldview while staying with Stan and Ford after a lifetime of staying sheltered. Under the impression exposure had expanded his horizons, it seemed Bill didn't agree. "I should've fucking listened to Stanford, you are a child."

The last bit redirected his thoughts, clawing into him. It felt like a kick when he was down already, knocking the breath from his lungs and rendering him incapable of speech for a few seconds, only able to stare at Bill. Wishing he would take it back, wishing he would say it was a mistake produced of frustration.

Bill had pulled the vehicle onto the shoulder, throwing it into park as he shot Dipper an angry glare, which he cowered away from. "All I fucking wanted was a relaxing car ride, but you decided to  _ruin_  that when you started badgering me over Ice Bag. That would've been fine, if you didn't get it in your thick head I needed to be 'fixed' or that I was  _unable to change_." Those seemed like mutually exclusive things, and Dipper mentally smacked himself for thinking about  _that_ when this was more important, not that it was easy to listen to. "For fucks sake, I've done so much to improve myself because of you, and what do I get? You being an ungrateful snob, because clearly I'm not good enough for the boy who's incapable of going through all the stages of grief or getting over past events. Maybe  _you_  should practice what you preach."

Although he'd been about to respond, the last piece had all words disintegrating on his tongue. The mention of his parents' deaths and his struggles with coping had all rational thought alluding him, and he'd thought Bill knew the subject was off limits. He wasn't ready for this relationship. He'd known it the whole time, why had he agreed to this? Bill was right. He was a child. He couldn't do this. His life was a mess, he should've ju—

No, he was doing better than he had been before, had to be. There was  _some_ improvement, no matter how minimal. No longer was he flat out sobbing everyday over the tragedy, they weren't constantly infiltrating his thoughts.

"If I was incapable of getting over past events," Bill's past aggression and plain malice toward him, the lies and deceit and disrespect, "and if you were incapable of change, we wouldn't be together." Despite what he'd said before, they weren't having the exact same fights over the same problems. Bill wasn't lying to him, nor was he threatening his life, or acting unjustly entitled. He wasn't mistreating him or belittling.

"Then why fucking say I'm too incompetent to fucking change, Pine Tree?"

"It's not incompetence, it's a matter of willpower." His voice was filled with sorrow. "You've said you don't want to change this—your broken relationship with Wendy—and so you won't."

Bill sighed, but it sounded more like a frustrated growl. "I said I'd fucking try. What more do you want from me?" It was angry, irritated.

Trying or not trying, that wasn't the dilemma, and Dipper shook his head. "You're doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. You're not going to try to be nicer to Wendy because you think it's important to be respectful and maintain good relationships with the rest of the crew, you're doing it because you think it'll make me shut the hell up about it." That wasn't progress, it was a method of avoiding the underlying problem, and that was better than nothing, but it was an illusion bound to fail at best.

When Bill didn't respond immediately, Dipper said, "Which… I guess is fine, because you're right. I shouldn't try to  _make_ you better, when that's subjective anyway, but I thought you told me you wanted to stop being a toxic part of the lives of those around you."

"I want to be," he muttered. "But this isn't easy for me, Pine Tree."

Nodding slowly, he continued, "And I think it's unhealthy to see this as 'fixing' yourself, you're not broken. It's self- _improvement_. Just because something can be upgraded doesn't mean it's dysfunctional in its current state, and I… I hope you know you are capable of change, if you want to be."

"Where was this supportive behavior ten minutes ago?" Bill's voice was quiet, the car beginning to move back onto the road. "It's like your attitude took a one-eighty."

Feeling slightly ill, he reminded, "I never called you  _broken_. I… might have said that thing about being unable to change after realizing a lot of these problems are created because you don't respect people." But Bill had been trying to make little steps toward the bigger goal: he'd quit lying, stopped the intentional cruelty toward him, attempted to be helpful, was more sensitive to his situation. Well, he'd thought he was, but what was said about his parents stirred his anxiety, and they'd have to address it sooner or later. "So it felt like you haven't changed, but I know that's not true. I know you're trying."

"I don't respect Red or Stan," he said. "That doesn't apply to everyone. Except my parents. And some other people." Stan, he could understand since the guy  _had_ left them in an incredibly dangerous situation, but Wendy didn't do anything to Bill that'd warrant a loss of respect.

"Mm, what about Soos? Or Ford?" Dipper questioned. "I've heard you call him names too. And those people you're on the phone with sometimes? It doesn't seem like you respect any of them."

"Dr. Soos isn't a person, and Fordsy and I have a complicated relationship. He's jealous I'm better at math than he is." That was leaning toward evidence of his claim, not Bill's.

With a frown, he said, "I honestly can't think of anyone you do respect." It was a silent plea to Bill, begging him to give a name of  _someone_ or something that he respected at least a tiny bit, as a growing uneasiness swept over him.

Bill tapped the steering wheel. "You, cutie."

As if afraid of the answer, he murmured, "Still?" After… what Bill had said about getting over the grief. About being childish, it haunted him. "You called me a 'fucking piece of shit' and an ungrateful snob."

"Yeah." He paused briefly. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really am."

"I—" What could he say to that when he didn't feel alright? "...Okay." Hurt, he wanted to cry but bit the inside of his cheek, willing the tears to stay back. The apologies, while they did sound genuine, didn't soothe an open wound, and he shook his head regretfully.

Bill glanced at him. "You're… you're not a child, and you know it takes different lengths of time to grieve. I shouldn't said what I said earlier."

It wasn't that easy. Admitting he  _shouldn't_  have said it didn't mean he didn't say it, or worse yet, mean he didn't believe it himself. Even in anger, the thought had to be lingering somewhere in Bill's mind if it came up during an argument, or perhaps he'd said those things with the intent to cause him emotional pain. If that'd been his goal, he'd surpassed it with flying colors, and he was shaking as he tried to keep himself collected. Another breakdown would be another reason for Bill to think he was a child, an  _ungrateful_   _snob_  that'd had a privileged lifestyle handed to him.

Now that it was gone, he couldn't cope, and he was probably making Bill's life equally unbearable with his own stack of problems— however, Bill had the decency not to pester him. If only he could say the same about himself when he'd come to Bill with the plan to pinpoint and amend his behavior.

A wounded mind was convinced he was a fucking piece of shit, Bill was right. Why would anyone ever agree to be in any relationship with him, let alone a romantic one? That had his thoughts circling back to his earlier worries, the ones fretting over being ready for this, but with an added dose of wondering if he was even the good influence he advocated for.

Fidgeting with his hands, he didn't look up as he asked, "Have you ever heard of the hedgehog's dilemma?"

"No? What's that, Pine Rose?" The car turned onto a new road, one void of life aside from a flickering street lamp, and Bill pulled into a parking lot, leaving Dipper to wonder what they were doing here.

"It's... this metaphor," he explained, pausing to ensure his voice wasn't wavering enough to alert Bill to his distress, "about human intimacy, but with hedgehogs. See, the hedgehogs want to huddle to share warmth during the winter, but if they get too close, their sharp spines just end up hurting each other."

The car was thrown into park, and Bill looked at him. "So, what does that have to do with anything? I'm not getting cuddly with Wendy if that's what you're proposing."

It was hard to resist rolling his eyes at how distant that was from the metaphor's meaning, but he tried to describe the actual intention of the analogy, "It's like us. We get close and then inevitably hurt one another."

"What do you want to do about that?"

The frank question struck him with uncertainty. "I don't know." Guilt flared within him, regret for bringing this up — maybe he would know what to do about it if he wasn't a fucking piece of shit, a stupid kid with no experience in romantic relationships and no preparedness for a real one.

Bill reached to touch the back of his hand. "Look, cutie. I know I fucked up, but don't take any of that bullshit I said to heart, okay?" Too late, it was sinking into his cognitions, plaguing his self-worth. "You're wonderful."

A lump in his throat, he wished the presence could be rewound, redone to right the wrong they'd created. Saying he took it back didn't retract the pain. It was difficult to keep his voice even, and he fought against the burning in the corners of his eyes as he murmured, "You say that now, but what about when you… you hurt me with something else?" Miserably, he added, "I can see it now, I'm going to become one of your exes that you cut down at every opportunity."

"When have I ever cut down an ex?"

"You think Wendy cheated on you, so you must have been under the impression you were dating. You're always being rude to her, but we've been over this, and—"

"Yeah, well," his voice grew bitter. "You made that clear that wasn't the case, didn't you, Pine Tree?"

Dipper used his free hand to cover his face, hunching over, emotionally checked out of this fight. Exasperation made him want to give up. "I was just trying to make my point more accommodating for you."

"I think all your point has been is 'I'm the bad guy, go fuck myself.'"

"My point was actually that I think we'll end this relationship in a messy breakup and you'll hate me forever." More than he hated himself if that was possible. Fucking piece of shit. Bill should hate him. He was making Bill feel horrible about himself, the metaphor in action much to his despair.

"Why the fuck would we break up?"

"Because I'm a fucking  _piece of shit_  and I…" he choked on his own words but couldn't stop them from spilling out, "sometimes I hate myself and I think I don't deserve you and I'm clearly bad for you when I keep saying all the wrong things and making it worse, but I can't help it and I don't know what to do to make this better." It was easy to blame the change in labels—going from friends with benefits to in a relationship—as the source of their strife but with a heavy heart he knew it wasn't true. It was who they were, and they couldn't escape that. Raw honesty pierced his words, "I'm trying really hard to maintain this shred of functionality in our relationship, but it's… it's so complicated, and I just end up loathing myself when it feels like we're going backwards rather than making progress." His missteps led them here, into this deep abyss with no light and no means of digging themselves out.

The look Bill gave him was almost blank, like he didn't know how to process the wave of emotional ejection. "Cutie, take a breath. Relax." Impossible, but he didn't realize how worked up he'd become over this until Bill mentioned it. His hair was a mess as he'd been nervously playing with it, his hands were shaky and sweaty, his breathing was ragged. "We're not going to break up, okay? You're not a piece of shit and honestly, you fucking deserve  _better_  than me."

"I frustrate you, and upset you." The frequency felt amplified after the events of the evening. "I guess I don't get it. How do  _I_ deserve better?" Ungrateful snob that he was, Bill's words drifting through his mind.

"Yeah, and I frustrate and upset you too. It goes both ways, doll. You're not, nor have you ever been, the only one at fault." His voice grew quiet. "Listen to me, cutie. Not your head."

Thinking aloud, he asked, "What if you're the one that introduced me to those thoughts? Sure, you say you didn't mean it, but that doesn't retract the effect it has." Feeling worthless, completely at fault. "I… It's still hard for me, I guess," he swallowed. "To know you—  _you_ , of all people, would say those things when you claim to care about me." Although he didn't voice it, the implication was clear that it wasn't what he'd said exactly, it was the intent to inflict emotional pain.

Bill shifted in his seat, glancing behind them. "Hey, I can't change what I said or did earlier, and I know you don't trust me, but try to hear me out. Let's get in the back seat, maybe cuddle up, and we can talk more, okay?"

While he wasn't enthusiastic about the prospect of getting cuddly, at least Bill could pull out the knife in his back while they were at it.

Unwilling to put in more than the minimum effort required, he used his size to his advantage and maneuvered himself through the gap in the seats, flopping into the backseat. Glancing to the front, it seemed Bill's eyes had followed, and he gave him a puzzled look before he moved to exit the driver's seat, the door slamming which reduced him to a wince as it flared up the headache's pain. One of the back doors opened, and Bill shuffled to join Dipper with the door closing behind him. It was lighter, a dull thud as Bill wrapped around him, nuzzling the crook of his neck. "Pine Tree."

Fucking piece of shit. Ungrateful snob. Synonyms, after all. Dipper wanted to shake his head and simultaneously shake the thoughts away, they weren't doing anyone any favors here, but that aggravated the pounding ache, and he whined lowly before realizing he hadn't responded.

Uncertain of what to say, if there was anything left to say, he mumbled, "Bill."

"I'm so, so fucking sorry." His voice was quiet, wavering. "I fucked up. I shouldn't have said what I said, but I did and that hurt you. It  _manipulated_  you into thinking you were the problem, that you're some sort of… horrible person, when you're not. You're so far from that."

"I don't get it," he said, forcing it out despite his throat's tightness. "I am the problem. Acting  _childish_  tonight. Making you feel inadequate, like you were something to be fixed. I don't want to do that to you. I said that thing about being unable to change," which had been incorrect and he'd recognized his error, but it was no less damaging, "even though I know you can. Whatever I do, I make this harder on both of us, and I just want to—" Dipper didn't know what he wanted. To be happy together in this relationship? Go back to the way things were, when they were dancing along the edge of impending arguments? Pretend everything was okay? It was overwhelming and made his head hurt worse.

"See, this is what I'm talking about. I turned the discussion around to focus on you. I started calling you unsupportive, a piece of shit," Dipper visibly flinched, "a child. You were trying to help and I lashed back at you. It's always been me." Although he didn't know if that was true, he was hesitant to believe it either way since he thought he crossed a boundary when he'd interpreted being in a relationship as suggesting he was somehow responsible for making Bill better, but he wasn't. Helping was one thing, trying to change him was another, and it was a dangerous border to walk along. His voice grew into a murmur, "Always fucking me. The world would probably be better if I fucking shot myself."

"It wouldn't be, but yeah, I think I hate myself too," he confessed. The feelings of self-loathing tended to come and go, less often now that he was past the initial wave of grief from his parents' deaths, but it was still waiting for vulnerable moments like this to take shelter inside of him. Although it wasn't addressing the issue, he was compelled to ask, "Do you think we're… good for each other?"

Perhaps he was afraid of the answer, since he didn't give Bill time to respond, "Because you're right, I am childish. Well, I feel like it anyway, feel like I'm just a stupid kid who doesn't know what he wants." Something he'd told Bill before. "And a lot of the time, I wonder if I'm even ready for this relationship. We have these really great moments together where it feels like everything's perfect, and then there are nights like this one."

"Nights like this are because of me," Bill said. "Because I don't want to change. I say I want to be less… toxic, but what the fuck am I doing, Pine Rose? I'm just hurting everyone around me. Especially you."

At the heartfelt words, Dipper internally promised he would be better too. Approaching this from a standpoint of supporting Bill rather than enabling bad habits or forcing change was a better perspective, a healthier one for both of them. "It's… it's not okay," his voice quivered, "and you can't redo it, but you can keep trying." The point in which Bill stopped trying altogether, that was where it'd count as failure. "You have to want it, though. You have to want it because you  _want_ to be better as a person, not because you want to stop having this fight or some other self-centered reason." Those would shift and disappear along with his motivation, the former would remain.

Bill emitted a long sigh, shuffling to wrap further around Dipper, and this time he nuzzled closer as well, burying his face into Bill's shoulder. Spicy honey, an unexpected comfort. "I get it," he mumbled. "I do want it. And I'm still really sorry, sweetheart, for being such a jackass."

Desperately wishing he knew what to say, he murmured, "I… I know you are, and it still hurts, but I'm not sure how to stop doing this to each other." They'd both lashed out, dealing out amounts of emotional pain that they couldn't take away. " _Should_  we be in this relationship?"

"Do you want to be?" Bill asked. "I know I'm not… the best partner, but I would like to try to keep this going."

Despite Bill's flaws, he enjoyed their time spent with one another, loved Bill as a person, and wasn't willing to give up that easily, it'd be the equivalent of admitting he hadn't grown at all since the death of his parents. And he had, he was ready to begin healing and moving on.

"I don't know why you'd want to be with me." Fuckingpieceofshitungratefulsnob.

Bill nuzzled him. "Because you're sweet, and caring, and a hell of a fun time to be around. I'd be lost without you."

Those aspects didn't mean they were good for each other or destined to be together in a long-term healthy relationship, and Dipper pointed out, "I make you feel worse about yourself. That's not… alright."

"You encourage me to be a better person. I think that makes up for it." Dipper wasn't sure he agreed that emotional wounds were a required evil. "Besides… I think I have a lot of making up to do."

"I don't know," he said and half-heartedly shrugged, unsure of what Bill even could do to make up for this except be better as time went on, the same thing he'd done to fix the other issues. "It's… kind of already done."

Bill's eyes flashed. "No, I need to show you I can be better. I can…" there was a pause as he thought, "I'll drop the shit with Red to the best of my ability, I'll try to be nicer to the rest of the crew." Dipper's eyebrows raised, intrigued by the resolutions but uncertain of how serious he was about implementing them.

He continued. "If I get irritated, I won't lash out. I'll… restrain that emotion, and if I need to I'll step away or... or ask to have a moment to get myself together before we resume– so that I can go back in calmer."

"I appreciate that and all, but…" Dipper sighed. "You don't need to suppress it, I just don't want you to think of me as your enemy during these conversations and make it a personal attack, like saying I'm—" he couldn't bring himself to verbalize the taunting words. "I don't want your goal to be hurting me. That's… You say you respect me, but doing that makes it feel like you don't."

"I do respect you," Bill said. "I don't want to hurt you, Pine Rose. You're not my enemy, I know you're not, and I'm not going to do that again."

"Even if you're annoyed with me?" It sounded a bit more downcast than he'd intended, and he pressed harder into Bill's shoulder, kind of wishing he could disappear into it.

"I'm not going to do it at all."

It was hard to be calmed by that after a rough night, but… he wanted to believe Bill, trusted that he was going to make an effort to be better like he said he would, but went into this knowing there would inevitably be setbacks in their process. It would require reminding himself of Bill's self-improvement achievements, how he'd come far already since that first evening they'd talked. So through a soft murmur, he said, "Okay."

Bill kissed his cheek. "I shouldn't have hurt you to begin with. I became.. stupidly defensive over feeling like you were siding with Red, then that just intensified when you started bringing up Soos, and Fordsy, and the others."

Although Bill couldn't see it at this angle, he frowned as he remembered that piece of the discussion. "I.. okay," he exhaled, "I was kind of doing bad before everything… exploded between us, and I didn't tell you because I thought it was childish and overly emotional, and dumb." It still was, in his opinion, but it'd created a bigger mess. "You said something about us being the real power couple, like.. it wasn't specific to me, but rather is a part of what you do with your lovers." A sour taste was again left in his mouth thinking about this, but he tried to stay focused. "I thought it was our thing," he continued, wounded, "but now I feel replaceable to you."

"Oh, cutie," Bill nuzzled him. "You're my only partner in crime, you know that, right? No one's going to replace you. You're the only thing that matters to me."

The reassurance was momentarily a reduction in anxiety, but the thought of being one of many made his gut twist. "I don't want to be another link in your who-knows-how-long chain of power couples." Grouping him in with every past lover Bill had ever had… it rendered it meaningless.

Bill let out a short laugh. "Do you really think anyone else has been considered worthy of being my power partner? I know I briefly mentioned Red earlier, but she was a fleeting thought ages ago. The only one that's been serious is you."

"It's because everyone else was too smart to agree to it, wasn't it." It was a question but sounded more like a flat, grumbling statement.

"Actually, it's because you're the only one I've liked enough to want to keep."

"Flattering," he replied affectionately, "but… if you want to keep me around, you'll have to be nicer." Dipper shifted so he could tilt his head up, kissing Bill's jaw before nuzzling him. "I know you said you respect me, so show it, and not just when things are good between us."

Bill smiled at him, kissing his nose. "I will, cutie. I won't let you down again."

"Bill, that's— you shouldn't say that. I mean, it's not that I don't think you can do it, but if you mess up, it might— you might get discouraged when you shouldn't be. Self-improvement is hard," an uphill battle, one Dipper fought with constantly as he tried to move on with his life after a major change, "and it won't always be a linear process, so you shouldn't set impossible expectations. Does that make sense?"

"This is me, cutie. I'm not setting an impossible expectation." They were pressed together, and he couldn't exactly look down to confirm, but he was pretty sure he felt Bill puffing his chest in pride.

Giving up, he settled on, "Just… try not to get discouraged if it doesn't go precisely like you think it will, alright?"

Bill chuckled. "I won't, cutie."

For once in his life, he wanted to get out of his head and focus on this moment, how Bill's embrace held him securely close. Protective. Making him wish he'd never have to let go, but staying here forever was a distant and unattainable dream when they'd eventually need to return to the penthouse and face the wrath of Stan and Ford.

Oh. Right. Stan.

A sheepish expression on his face, he pulled away from Bill, who stared at him, awaiting an explanation for why he'd ended their cuddling prematurely. "Not.. to ruin this moment or anything," he gave a nervous tug at his collar, "but uh, we need to pick up tacos before we go back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes part two- next update is Sunday, and we'll be responding to comments soon. Thanks for being patient! :)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sexual content, under-negotiated choking, unhealthy perceptions of body image.

Waking up alone wasn't Dipper's favorite, all the residents of the penthouse seemingly having their own places to be. Ford was gone for the remainder of the day and part of tomorrow, Stan was nowhere to be found, Mabel was with Pacifica at a party he hadn't been invited to. Some social event or gala, he wasn't really sure, but he had no interest in it either when attendance required a better-than-you attitude and stuffy formal wear. Stacks of cash were integral to fitting in. How Mabel could stand that crowd, he didn't know.

And Bill… he really had no idea where Bill was. It was weird to wake up after him, weirder yet to be completely uncertain of his whereabouts, but he'd opted to text him upon being done with breakfast if he hadn't already shown up by then.

With the television on in the background about the most recent gang busts due to the mayor's effort in collaboration with the police department, his Pop-Tart was almost finished, and he was splayed out on the sofa in a pitiful heap of boredom. The penthouse was incredibly dull when there was nobody to share it with. In the daytime, it was a mere inconvenience, but he hoped somebody would arrive before night fell because that was when it shifted from lonely to eerie and downright  _isolating_.

At the end of his patience and beginning to wonder if something was wrong, Dipper texted Bill:

 **(10:31 AM)**  Hey Carmen Sandiego, where in the world are you?

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _working_

 **(10:32 AM)**  Jeez, no appreciation for the reference that's as old as you?

 **(10:32 AM)**  But anyway

 **(10:32 AM)**  You work too much, and we would've had the penthouse to ourselves if you were around

Less seriously and without intention of acting on it, he added:

 **(10:33 AM)**  Maybe I'll just take this time to jack off to the thought of you, wishing you were here

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _send me a video_

 **(10:34 AM)** Are you going to pass me your credit card information?

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _when did you become a whore?_

It was impossible to resist rolling his eyes at that, and he got to work on a reply, all the while wishing sarcasm and dry humor weren't so hard to convey via text.

 **(10:34 AM)**  When I met you, guess it's your fault I'm slutty now

 **(10:35 AM)**  Oh Bill

 **(10:35 AM)**  Fuck me <3

Snickering under his breath, Dipper supposed he might as well make this a little more than distracting to Bill. Probably not the best move if he was on a job and actively needed to be mentally available for it, but he figured he could silence his phone and stop replying at any point.

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _cutie, i will when i come home later_

 **(10:36 AM)**  Probably will be too tired from that job you're doing

 **(10:36 AM)**  And who knows, I might not be up for it anymore by the time you get back

 **(UNAVAILABLE)**   _we'll see ;)_

Leaving the conversation at that, Dipper cleared away the remains of the Pop-Tart and settled back onto the sofa to watch the news, catching the remainder of the slot about gang activity and the mayor's plans to reduce it, her followers reveling in the success of her efforts. She seemed to be closing in on the city gangs, and he couldn't help but be concerned about when the effects of her 'murder-or-incarcerate' program would reach the Owls.

After the segment ended, he changed it to Mabel's favorite channel—the one that featured various soap operas, each somehow corny in their own singular way—and entertained himself with his phone for the most part until there was a noise outside the door that drew his attention from the screen.

The entrance of the penthouse swung open as Bill entered, the mugs of coffee in his hands as he kicked the door closed and headed over to the sofa to join Dipper. "Hey cutie."

"Oh, hey," he greeted, glancing to his phone to check the time, amused to see it was approximately thirty minutes after their text conversation ended. "That was fast. Did you race over here or something?" As amazing as how soon Bill had gotten here, it was also amazing how much time he realized he'd wasted on watching a meaningless soap opera.

"Nah, I was almost done with the job when you started texting me. I got us coffees." He plopped down beside him, passing him his blue mug, which he took with a few words of gratitude.

"You're still back earlier than I thought you'd be," he commented. "I know you don't like it when I'm on a new medication and left alone, so…" a shrug, "I'm glad you're here." At least the medication seemed to be working better than the previous one, he wasn't emotionless, but he didn't know if it was actually going to halt the nightmares.

Bill took a sip from his mug. "Are you feeling any better today?" he asked.

"I feel fine," he reported, setting his mug down onto the coffee table after a delicious sip. "Nothing is different than before." That was assuming they were discounting the slightly unfavorable experience of waking up alone and spending his morning with only the television as a companion.

Bill set his coffee onto the table as well to ask, "Before I left or is it similar to your old medication with the emotionlessness?"

The concern had butterflies in his stomach, and Dipper could've grinned at the almost fretting response. Shuffling to weave his arms around Bill in a sideways embrace, he used a small amount of force to urge Bill onto the sofa, then hovered over him. Affection in his voice, he mumbled, "Stop worrying so much, you big bumblebee." But since Bill was insistent, he went on to clarify, "Before I started taking the medication."

A low huff escaped Bill, and he leaned up to kiss Dipper's cheek, arms snaking to pull him down, and Dipper collapsed onto Bill with an expelling of air. "That's good, doll."

Averting his gaze, he tried to ignore the deeply-rooted sense of shame as he mumbled, "I mean, we'll see? I don't know if it'll work for the… uh, nightmare problem." Tilting his head and placing it on Bill's chest, he smiled faintly at the familiar position and echo of Bill's heartbeat. A gentle inhale had him swept up in the scent of spicy honey. "You smell so… unbelievably good, now that you don't smoke anymore." There was no lingering bitterness or the traces of foul smoke.

"It's been hard," Bill murmured. "I kind of hate it sometimes. Not being able to smoke. There's an itch, you know?"

"I thought you only did it when you were stressed?" Dipper questioned while his mind worked overtime to consider what could be bothering him, if he truly was overworking himself and needed a break. "Have you been stressed lately?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I don't crave a smoke after being off it for… what, a week or two?" That was an exaggeration, but Dipper didn't bother correcting him.

"Y'know, some people try to fill the void with something when they stop a bad habit. Something less harmful, like… hard candies, maybe butterscotches?" It was a suggestion, and he shrugged. "You could become ninety years old just in time for your twenty-sixth birthday in a couple months."

"Gross, go take your advice to Stanley."

"I've, uh.. been avoiding Stan recently," he admitted, as if it hadn't been obvious enough that he didn't want to be left alone with him for any amount of time. Mabel mentioning that Stan wanted to talk to him in private had him on edge, the possibilities floating around, sparking anxiety.

It'd gotten to the point where his desperation to stay away from Stan may have caused more awkwardness than actually having a one-on-one conversation with the guy. Going with Bill to the bathroom at one point, standing on the balcony with Ford while he took a phone call from Fiddleford, being Mabel's audience while she tried on different evening attire for her outings with Pacifica.

Bringing him back to the present instead of recollecting his latest awkward experiences, Bill blew air at his face. "What, can't handle being around the guy eager to kill almost half his crew?"

It was nerve-wracking! The mere idea had him flustered, and he squirmed away from Bill to rise to his feet, beginning to pace the expanse of the penthouse. Much like Bill's urge to resume smoking, pacing was a nervous habit he couldn't ignore. "It's not just that, alright? I— well, okay, it is mostly that," Dipper admitted, clasping his hands behind his back, "but it's this other thing too. It's— Stan wants an opportunity to talk to me alone. Like, really  _alone_. No Ford or you or anybody else allowed." What if it was another angry lecture? What if he'd somehow found out about him and Bill?

"So tell him 'no' if you're not comfortable."

Frustratedly running a hand through his hair, he exhaled and resumed pacing with a renewed determination. "I can't! I have to talk to him at some point if I want to join the Owls. The time limit of two months expired, if you haven't noticed." It'd been over for a day or two now, but he hadn't given Stan a chance to speak with him about it. Whenever they were possibly going to be alone, he'd either latch onto someone else or make up some excuse about having to pee. In hindsight, Stan probably thought he had a UTI.

Bill raised an eyebrow at him. "You can probably convince him to let someone join you, cutie."

"I can try. Stan will most likely be back later. Mabel won't be here until early evening, Ford's gone for the day." Pausing to stare at Bill, he asked with hope in his voice, "Are you going to be around?"

"Might get a call from a client, and if that happens, I'm taking it for easy money." He stopped, and Dipper looked over in time to see him take a swig of the coffee, then continue, "So it depends, but I can try."

With a sigh, he continued pacing, trying to think of a way to weasel out of this. "Maybe Soos or Wendy can come over, or… I don't know, I could go somewhere and wait it out." Where that'd be, he hadn't a clue. "I could go for a walk, I guess." Hopefully whoever the buffer turned out to be would return before dark.

Bill shifted to sit up, reaching to grabbing his drink for another sip, and it prompted Dipper to do the same as he paused near the coffee table. "Just be careful, sugar. Don't need you getting mugged."

"Yeah, I'll try not to." All he'd bring was his phone, and he'd be in before the sun set, operating on the assumption that'd give the others enough time.

"Send me texts, okay?"

"Okay."

Bill moved off the couch, his coffee returned to the table as he joined Dipper and wrapped his arms around him. "You need to relax, honey," he murmured. "Join me on the couch, alright? Come on." He gently began to pull him back towards the sofa, and Dipper flopped onto the cushions, staring at the pristine ceiling. The clinical whiteness of the penthouse never had been particularly friendly feeling.

"So you could have another job later," he recalled, a slight frown pulling his lips downwards. "I still think you work too hard."

"Nah," Bill responded as he climbed onto the couch to wrap around his smaller frame. "Not enough."

"I think you mean not enough time spent with me," he mused but didn't mind terribly, they already lived together and spent most days in each other's company, so he couldn't complain. "Yeah, that seems about right."

"Honey, I've spent significantly longer time with you than I have working."

"Same. You should be appreciative, I'm setting aside my extremely lucrative career to be with you." It was hard to hold back his laughter as he spoke.

Teasingly, Bill stated: "You hardly have a job, doll." It was tempting to point out that Bill's "job" was hardly a job either, they were essentially criminals- that didn't fit into society's standards of job, though it did bring in profits.

Oh well, that was a conversation for another day. Shifting to give Bill playfully exaggerated bedroom eyes, he said in a mock-sultry tone, "The ones I do have, I'm excellent at."

"Yeah, you're real good at sucking my dick. We should do that again." Much to Dipper's delight, Bill's hands drifted over his sides and began to lightly stroke along them in smooth motions.

Surprised but nevertheless intrigued, he inquired, "You want me to blow you?" It wasn't that he was against the idea, but it'd been a while. A while since they'd done anything notable, not simply oral sex. Dipper didn't push for it, Bill had seemed tentative after the night in the hotel room, and he thought pressuring him would perhaps lead him into a second spiral of guilt.

Although he looked thoughtful, Bill didn't stop the shiver-inducing touches. "I'd rather fuck you, but I don't think you'd be comfortable with that just yet."

It wasn't that he was  _uncomfortable_ or… not ready, but there were some lingering reservations. Nothing he didn't have under control, obviously. "I, uh, I could handle it." Maybe that wasn't the most reassuring thing to tell someone who'd just expressed interest in having sex with him, and he scrambled to fix it. "I meant to say, I'm… I haven't thought about it that much. It's not like I'm opposed to the idea of having sex. With you, that is."

Bill's expression turned skeptical. "So you want me to fuck your tight ass right now?" It was phrased like less of a proposition, more of a challenge to see if he would do it.

" _Well_ ," he wrung his hands together, swallowing, "I don't know…? Look, you've had  _a lot_ of past lovers," more like reasons to feel inadequate in Dipper's mind, "and this commitment aspect of our relationship is still pretty new and all." Indecision held him at a crossroads, it wasn't a lack of interest, it was a feeling of not being ready after the several hiccups in their relationship and his own personal insecurities. The latter had improved over time, but the former—his fights with Bill, and Bill's harmful verbalizations—kept him trapped in a position of being unsure this was the right move for them. Fully trusting Bill wasn't something he could bring himself to do as it was, particularly after the recent arguments they'd had, and trust was a prerequisite to intercourse as far as Dipper was concerned.

Bill frowned at him, looking displeased, and Dipper tried to ignore the stab of guilt. "That means 'no', sweetheart. If it's 'too soon in our relationship', you're not comfortable."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. How do I know when I  _am_ comfortable and okay with making that step? Mabel keeps pestering me about it, and Wendy wanted to know too…" he trailed off with a sigh. "What if I'm never comfortable?" Thinking about his reasons for holding off, it would be difficult to determine when the circumstances aligned since Bill repeatedly gave him reasons to be worried about their relationship, and about how healthy it was. Sometimes, it was enticing to just… do it, but that would be unfair to both of them if it wasn't what he wanted.

"Then I suppose I'll have to relay my sorrows to a society revolving around being in dead bedrooms."

"Oh." The thought of that wasn't exactly optimistic, and he hoped their strife didn't extent to that point. Sitting up, Dipper reached for his coffee mug and drank a few more sips before gazing at Bill. "Say hi to Stan and Ford. They're probably in that community."

"Doesn't work when they get more action than me." He faintly smirked at him. "I imagine Shooting Star's bedroom is the most active."

"Wow." Dipper cleared his throat, thumping his heel against the cushion of the couch as he was met with the desire to resume pacing. "I think your chances of getting a blowjob are now significantly lower."

Bill gave him a confused glance. "What did I do?"

Smiling sheepishly, he tried to describe the issue, "There's nothing that is less arousing to me than bringing my twin's sex life into this."

"Think you're the first person around here to have an issue with that, cutie."

"I wish Mabel wouldn't be so interested in finding out about our sex life, but I think she's curious because I've never had a relationship or been intimate or anything." It was natural for her to be curious, it was a novel situation for him to be romantically interested in another person, so he couldn't fault her for wanting to be more informed when they'd always share everything with each other.

Bill let out a hum, shuffling to sit up and nuzzle Dipper's neck, which sent shivers down his spine. "Ignore her, honey. She'll settle down." As if to encourage him to let his worries drain away, Bill resumed stroking his sides, fingertips gently dragging over his shirt.

"That's nice," he said, slightly breathless. "The… flank stroking." It was pleasurable in a subtle way, encouraging his muscles to tense and then relax.

"Just keep enjoying it, cutie."

After another sip of his coffee, he returned the mug to the table and settled back onto the couch, resting on his stomach while hoping Bill wouldn't stop. "You're the one working so hard," he murmured, "shouldn't I be doing this to you?"

Bill moved slightly, an indicator he had shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, no. You're the one that's been stressed." The touching hadn't stopped, though Bill did slip his hands under his shirt, fingers brushing against his bare skin.

Whimpering in response to the new direct sensation, his back involuntarily arched, and he was unsure of whether he was sensitive or ticklish. "How are you so good at this?" It was almost hard to think and coherently form words with the way his touch produced tiny bolts of excitement that clouded his thoughts and stole his ability to breathe, his eyes fluttering closed. "Oh my  _god_."

"I've had some practice with my hands." Not surprising for a piano master like him, and while Bill hadn't admitted to his musical skill yet, Dipper thought it was painfully obvious that he played. He continued with the light brushing, hands gliding from his sides to his back and neck. "Does that feel good?"

"Feels amazing," Dipper replied, wishing he'd known Bill could do this before now. Sure, the massage had been nice, but this was fantastic, somehow even better. Whatever he was worried about before, it was hard to remember when featherlight fingertips were gracing his skin, encouraging his mind to go blank and as Bill suggested, do nothing but enjoy it.

The feeling was a unique one. Sort of ticklish, mostly pleasurable, it made him want to squirm but simultaneously had him melting into a puddle of his former self. Quietly moaning, he hoped Bill was happy with himself because he was relaxed enough that it was a shock he didn't sink right into the sofa itself. For once, it was like the anxiety and stresses and worries and curiosity had disappeared, his thoughts surprisingly empty and tranquil.

Bill chuckled softly as the moan faded, his lips suddenly brushing against the back of Dipper's neck, bringing him to pull his shoulders in rigidly despite his body bursting to life with shivers down his spine. "Dude, a little warning?" he complained, but it wasn't too severe when everything—all of it—was just  _really nice_.

"Nah, you get what your body desires, cutie." Bill's lips tickled his neck again, accompanied by the electric sensation of his teeth grazing the skin, and he squeaked, every inch of him on edge.

"I have no idea what you did to me," he murmured, each touch managing to be more intense than the last, "but I like it a lot and dread it at the same time. Kind of like you." Trying to conjure a suitable name for the experience had him saying, "Schrodinger's… erotic touches?"

Bill snickered, nails gliding along his skin, and he bit back another noise so as not to interrupt him, but it was difficult when he wanted to voice how wonderful it all was. "Yeah, I know how much you like my erotic touches. Gets your panties in a twist."

"More like gets my panties off." Not that he wore panties. Well, whatever, it wasn't important, the bottom line was that he could lay here forever and let Bill do anything he wanted to him as long as it felt this good. It was a full-body experience, sort of like the actual electricity they'd incorporated into sexual activities, but the sensations were vastly different.

"I bet they'd come off easily," Bill hummed as his fingers dipped below his jeans, and Dipper trembled from the influx of new feelings produced. "I bet they're already wet with your precum."

He made a  _psh_  noise and a feeble, dismissive hand gesture, all he could manage when his muscles had turned to mush under Bill's fingertips. "I'm not aroused," he mumbled through a huff. "I mean… maybe, but it's not like, to the point where it's a problem, y'know?" Or needed attention. Awkwardly, he rambled on, "It's like that middle ground that happens because I'm nineteen and you're touching me and I could ignore it and it'll go away, but if I think about it too much, it's more of an issue?" A cough. "Wow, I can't believe I just tried to describe my half-boner to you. Well, this… this is weird. Yeah, I can safely say we've reached a weird place in our relationship."

Bill raised an eyebrow at him, his fingers slowly sinking further into his pants. "I can make you more aroused, cutie." With how he brushed along his boxers, his words were already becoming intertwined with reality. "Get your blood flowing, your cock excited. We can have some fun this afternoon."

Shifting a little and raising his hips to resituate since this position was beginning to get uncomfortable, he inquired, "What do you want to do?"

"Well," Bill considered. "Is that blowjob off the table?" Although he'd been hesitant earlier with the many stressors weighing on him, he was much more willing to oblige now after that nice session of being felt up by his boyfriend.

However, because he'd been under the impression this was about his state of arousal, he twisted to rest on his side, looking at Bill with intrigue. Met with a wide, devious grin, Bill informed him, "But here's the really fun part: after we're done with that, I'm going to finger you until you cum."

His agreement couldn't have been more immediate, nodding to show he enthusiastically understood. "Do you at least want to move to your bedroom? It's not that we  _couldn't_ do anything here, but…" someone could walk in, there was a giant wall window not far from them with a full view of the sectional sofa.

"What," Bill's voice was teasing, "don't you want Stan to walk in with my cock down your throat?"

"That… was actually the exact example of a mortifying situation I was going to cite if you tried to fight me on this," Dipper confessed with a laugh, then was hit by a shudder-worthy possibility. "Alternatively, he could walk in and see you fingering me?" It could be anyone, it didn't have to be Stan, but he'd never live down the shame of being walked in on like that.

Bill laughed softly, fingers motioning to wiggle into Dipper's boxers, but he didn't move away from the intruding touch. "Stan won't give two shits, he doesn't know anything."

A teasing tone in his voice, he suggested, "Maybe he'd like to watch." Doubtful, extremely doubtful. Thank goodness for that, but he wouldn't put himself into a situation where being caught by somebody they knew was a viable possibility.

"Yeah, he can watch missing out on your sweet ass."

It was a confusing, amusing response, and he said, "I seriously don't understand your rules. No threesomes, but Stan can watch and Wendy can't?" The rules of selection were beyond him, but he didn't honestly care. It wasn't as if he was ever going to need to know this.

Bill nipped his neck, and he yelped more from surprise rather than the tiny pinch. "Are you going to wear a Playboy Bunny costume for him?"

"Uh.." he started, trying to read Bill's expression, "I'm not totally sure how to answer that. ...Yes?" Was that the right answer? "If you want me to?" It was hard to determine what Bill was leading into with this pop quiz.

"No, I don't want you to. You're  _mine_ , Pine Tree. Stan's lost his watching permissions."

Dipper blew a raspberry at him. "Have they been upgraded to participation permissions? Can't wait to have Stan all over me." It was more challenging than he thought to say that without laughing or wincing or ..maybe cringing until he imploded in on himself, he didn't really know anymore, but it was fun to tease Bill like this. "Oh hey, while we're at it, let's invite Owl Mask too."

Bill let out a low growl. "I'm going to drag your ass into my room and fuck you until all you know is me."

Inhaling sharply, he was careful to avoid showing how much that'd gotten to him. "Maybe I've changed my mind about having sex with just you?" Dipper played along with a casualness to his tone, slipping out from under Bill in a fluid motion to begin putting space between them. "All this talk of getting other people involved has been pretty tantalizing, y'know."

A little roughly, Bill snagged Dipper around his waist, pulling him back onto his lap so his back was flush against Bill's chest. "Where do you think you're going, cutie?" he rumbled, chin resting on his shoulder.

"Don't mind me on the search for a better lay." Dipper wriggled free again, but it didn't last long since Bill stayed behind him, forcing his entire weight forward and sending them both roughly flopping to the ground, Bill landing on top. Trying to use his limbs to throw off Bill's balance, he commented breathlessly, "Dude, you are heavier than I thought."

Bill retorted, "Yeah, I'm a healthy weight for my height."

That stunned him, left uncertain of the jab's meaning, or if Bill was speaking seriously about this. A little worried, he asked for clarification, "Do you think I'm fat?" He had been enjoying a lot of sweets lately, and the coffees maybe didn't help…

There was silence for a moment, shooting panic into Dipper, making him wonder what Bill thought of him. "How much do you weigh?"

"Ford made me get on the scale before the first heist so they could get my weight. It's one hundred thirty-something pounds, but I don't think that's changed." It generally didn't, his weight had remained constant over the past several years, so he was glad Stan and Ford bent the rules a bit and allowed him to heist with his current weight despite it being outside the equation.

Looking into the wall window, he could see Bill's reaction from the reflection, an expression of disgust crossing his usually pleasant features, which had daggers digging into his gut. "That'd have made my fan bend, and it was customized to hold weight."

Suddenly self-conscious and recalling the times Bill had verbally shamed others in the crew for supposedly being fat, he mumbled a quiet "oh" and ceased his squirming attempts to ask as he tried to keep his voice steady, "Hey, could you let me up?" The heat of the moment was fading, a dreary iciness settling where fiery desire had once been.

"Sure, sugar." Dipper hated himself a little more at the choice of endearing term, pondering if he meant it like… that. Bill moved to let him up, but he didn't scrape himself from the floor yet, trying to catch his breath after Bill had removed his weight. Maybe he was just out of shape, he thought with some concern, peering at himself through the window's reflection.

Although he finally pulled his body to his feet, he started walking away from Bill—not even sparing him a glance—and toward the wall window to stare at his upright form via the reflection. Though he wouldn't have seen such drastic imperfections before the callous comment, it seemed like everywhere he looked had pockets of fat waiting to be noticed, and his expression fell as he wondered if that was why Bill was stroking his sides earlier, feeling for himself how pudgy he'd become.

"Hey cutie, are you gonna suck my dick or keep staring at the window?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Dipper turned around, back pressed against the window, but couldn't look at him and averted his gaze downward as his body wanted to curl in on itself. He was hunched downward slightly, allowing the excess fabric of his plaid shirt to hang loosely rather than cling to his frame. "Kind of feel sick all of a sudden," he said quietly, fingers twitching against the glass and creating a hollow noise. It was perfect for the occasion, he felt gutted at this reveal of information.

Bill took a step toward him, and there was a clunk as he tried to keep the same distance but was thwarted by the window. "What, the thought of dick makes you feel queasy now? That's no fun, doll."

"Nnno," he said slowly, "that's not what's happening here. I don't know why I don't feel great." It wasn't the most eloquent lie when he knew very well what was going on, why he was faced with a barrage of inadequacy and shaking self-worth, and Bill's obvious displeasure with his weight was bothering him. The disgust he'd seen on his face haunted his memory.

"Alright," Bill said. "So do you want to go lay down in my room, or are you just going to cling to the window?"

The decision was quick, and he was already beginning to leave the main living space of the penthouse to retreat to a familiar bedroom, preferably somewhere he could think about this in peace for a while, decide his next move. "I'll go to your room." But that was pretty clear when he was halfway inside of it, about to close the door—

It didn't take long for the footsteps to follow as Bill trailed after him. "I'll join you."

"Oh." Well, that… made it more complicated. Dipper stood in the middle of the room, watching as Bill began to discard his clothes down to his boxers but making no move to do the same. Ten minutes ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, but he wasn't so sure anymore. Wasn't sure he wanted to be seen without the mask of his clothes when he was self-conscious about the possibility of unexpectedly gaining weight.

"What are you waiting for, sweetheart? Don't be shy." Bill was already moving to get in bed, his clothes a pile on the floor.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he scanned the room for his pajamas, snatching them away from the top of the dresser. "I was just admiring you, that was all." It was a half-truth, at least. Starting toward the connecting bathroom, he promised over his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

"You better be," Bill called after him.

After stepping into the bathroom, the switch to his pajamas was quick since he was out of Bill's line of sight, feeling more comfortable with this. At least until he could lose a few pounds, then everything would be back to normal. Bill wouldn't think he was gross, and he could feel better about himself. Easy solution, no big deal.

But while he was in here…

Dipper's attention drifted to the scale, his feet following after as he stood on it, frowning at the reading of one hundred thirty-two. His guess hadn't been far off, but it was disheartening when coupled with the knowledge that Bill thought he was chubby, a fact he hadn't been aware of until today.

Returning to the bedroom and dropping his clothes on the floor, he climbed onto the bed, sitting on the constellation sheets beside Bill, whose tattoos demanded his attention. "So," he cleared his throat, hesitating as he wasn't sure he wanted to ask, "do you think I'm… attractive?"

"If I didn't find you attractive, why would I call you 'cutie', sugar?"

"Because you forgot my name two months ago and now it's too late to ask," he replied dryly, unable to determine if he should be flattered by Bill's explanation or not. "But to be honest, I don't blame you. You've basically called me terms of endearment the whole time we've known each other, so why stop?"

"Isn't your name Dollper?" He winked at him. "Don't worry, I remember your name, Dearper." Yeah, no, it was neither of those, but they were somewhat closer than 'ungrateful snob' or 'fucking piece of shit' so that was a start. He wished it didn't still bother him so much, but the words hadn't gone away even if they weren't as loud in his head.

While pretty sure Bill did recognize his name, he said, "I still can't tell if you actually know it."

"Cutie, I know your name. Probably. It doesn't matter, does it?" Maybe if he was serious about that marriage he was constantly referring to, then he supposed it would matter in the future. "We don't need names. Unless it's my name."

Dipper's eyebrows raised, but he shrugged it off and curled into Bill's side. "Okay,  _sir_."

Bill wrapped his arm around him, and he relaxed against Bill, closing his eyes. "Keep up that talk and I'll make you suck my dick."

"Later," he murmured affectionately, trying to ignore the stab of hesitance in the pit of his stomach. "If.. you want me to." However irrational, there was the fear that Bill wouldn't want to do anything sexual with him if he saw him as… undesirable; in the past, he had never spoken kindly of anyone who he deemed overweight.

* * *

Blinking the sleep away, Bill glanced around the room before his gaze flicked to Dipper's sleeping form, curled into his side. It was adorable, how his small frame clung to him comfortably, nuzzled in. "Gorgeous," he greeted through a tired whisper as he shifted slightly to plant a kiss to his lips, and Dipper's eyes opened, though they wandered without direction to indicate he remained in his sleepy state. "I think it's time to get up."

Voice drawn out and thick with sleep, he mumbled, "Already?" The sheets rustled, and Bill watched as he fought to get closer, essentially clinging to him. "But this is so nice, and… really warm." They could agree on that. It was blissful, having Dipper in snuggle mode, and definitely generated plenty of heat between their intertwined bodies.

Although he would've been tempted to slip back into the depths of sleep, Dipper was beginning to lazily kiss his neck and shoulder, uncoordinated but becoming more skilled as his alertness increased. Bill moaned softly, turning to capture his lips in a brief kiss as his hands glided along his side and stomach, but he could feel Dipper tense under the touch. Strange, since he liked it before. Breaking the kiss, he complimented lovingly, "You're adorable, sweetheart."

"Wait," he said, shimmying out of his reach. That was a new development, and he couldn't say he cared for the rejection, never before had he been shut down from touching him. "Why don't you… uh, let me—?" The sputtering was followed by a hand motion in his direction, but he wasn't really sure what it meant. "Look, just keep your hands to yourself. Think of it like… I dunno, a challenge?"

"What do I get for completing this challenge?" Bill inquired with his head tipped to one side, eyeing up Dipper curiously. What happened to him melting under his hands?

"What do you mean?" Dipper asked with a short, nervous laugh. "You don't get anything for  _completing_ it. I was going to blow you and give you a chance to enjoy this without worrying about reciprocating, since you're usually the one doing most of the work otherwise."

Oh, well in that case he'd rip his own boxers right off. "I can still reciprocate, cutie," he said as he moved to wiggle out of his boxers, but Dipper smacked his hand away, appearing to be set on doing everything himself. "Make you moan."

"Maybe… in a bit, okay? I want to do this for you." Dipper rolled on top of him, seemingly drinking him in for several moments, his widened pupils dragging over his chest—which he puffed in pride, he was a handsome motherfucker (literally)—and glazing over his torso and stomach. The hours of work he poured into keeping himself fit, this was the payoff, and plus he knew the kid had a thing for his tattoos. That was reconfirmed with abundant clarity when his hands drifted over them, tracing the patterns into his skin.

It was sort of like he was trying to imitate how he'd touched the kid earlier, but his were more languid, perhaps closer to a massage with how his palms rubbed the muscle underneath, careful attention dedicated to where it seemed most effective. Bill let out small noises of pleasure, groans, and he tried to press back into his touches, eager for more. And when it appeared he had his fill of feeling him up, the touches shifted to kisses with Dipper resettling on top of him.

Pausing, he asked, "Hey, do you think it'd be alright if I… y'know, gave you a hickey or something?"

Bill let out a soft laugh, though he wasn't against the idea of him attempting the endeavor. His own marks on Dipper still shone prominently, reminding everybody who he belonged to. But the question remained, "Can you even make one?"

Puffing his cheeks defiantly, Dipper took that as a signal to do it and Bill felt the warmth of his breath on his neck as he found a place to create his mark. A bit rougher than what was necessary, he felt the kid's teeth sink in before sucking on the skin, but he released after only a few seconds to admire his work. "Wow, you're right," he mumbled, "that actually is harder than I thought it'd be, but I can still see it."

"Amazing," Bill teased. "Must've been from how hard you were biting."

"Whatever, it's still a mark," he huffed with a defensive inflection, but returned to his neck to resume his sporadic kissing, every now and then nipping at him. It was electric, the small bites he left behind, and Bill tipped his head up to give him more room to work his magic. As his movements journeyed downward, currently focused on his collarbone and chest, one of his hands brushed over the front of his boxers, fingers dancing along his length before tentatively palming it.

Bill shuddered, aware of his growing erection as Dipper attended to his cock. "Doll," he moaned raggedly. "I really want to fuck you."

A contemplative hum preceded his response. "Just the blowjob for now, but you can fuck my mouth? I'll let you touch during that part, if you want."

His eyebrow raised at that. "You'll let me fuck your throat?" Last time, he'd choked and told him to stop.

"Um," he swallowed, looking so shy about it but not unsure, "yes, assuming that'd make it better for you. You've been good about the no touching thing so far, so… I guess that can be your reward?" And as he spoke, his hand had stopped briefly to dip into his boxers, the direct contact so much more gratifying. It was instinctual to buck up against his hand, desiring more.

"I'll fuck you raw," Bill rumbled, possessive lust trickling into his voice. "You'll love it, Pine Rose." Dipper spat last time and coughed up a storm, but Bill planned on coming so far down his throat he had no choice but to swallow.

"Probably, yeah. I mean, I want to do this for you." Giving a gentle squeeze, Dipper stole a kiss on his lips and picked up the pace, backing off a bit to work his boxers with the other hand. "Jesus, Bill," he breathed as he eyed him up, and while it may have been sly flattery, it stroked his ego nonetheless.

Bill couldn't help but inhale with pride, grinning at  _his_  Pine Rose and adoring how he seemed transfixed by this. "Like what you see, cutie?" His cock was almost fully erect, and he was eager to plunge into Dipper's warm mouth.

The crimson blush spoke volumes, more so when he ducked his head to hide it. "Stop fishing for compliments, you already know you're super attractive." The words were partially muffled as Dipper kissed along his stomach, going lower and fueling his body with anticipation, a thrill going through him as his hands relocated to his hips since it suggested they were going to get to the main event.

"Yeah, I know how much you  _love_  my—" he seemed to know what was coming because he chose that moment to begin stroking his tongue over his arousal, " _erectus manius_." He threw his head back as the trial-esque lapping continued, fighting the temptation to thrust up into his mouth.

Pulling away again after much too short of a time in Bill's opinion, Dipper asked, "Okay, do you want to sit on the edge of the bed? It might be easier for you that way. If you're ready to keep going, I guess."

Bill didn't wait, already squirming to get to the edge of the bed, as Dipper watched with some amusement until following after. "Oh, I'm ready all right. Can't wait to sink into that pretty mouth of yours."

While Dipper got situated on his knees in front of him, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs as his hot breath ghosted over the most sensitive parts of his body, the sensation teasing— god damn, this was pushing him to his limits, wearing down his ability to wait.

Well, it was obvious he had no idea what was coming if he'd thought  _that_ was a test of patience since Dipper was giving him the most fucking sexy bedroom eyes and he asked sweetly, "So uh, if you're ready, would you  _please_ fuck my mouth, sir?"

That went straight to his dick, and he almost growled as he used one hand to squeeze Dipper's jaw open and began to push his cock between his parted lips, groaning as his dick was engulfed in a warm wetness. "Stars, you feel fucking good,  _Mason_."

After a moment of readjustment, Dipper was taking him further, trying to fit more into that cute little mouth without gagging. His tongue worked the underside of his cock as he started to suck, big eyes peering up at him through his eyelashes, waiting— no, practically  _begging_  for direction.

Bill couldn't help it, the desire to fuck him raw, and he began to thrust into his mouth, the tip of his cock striking the back of Dipper's throat. Thank the stars he didn't pull back this time and chastise him; the way he devotedly let him ravish his throat was driving Bill wild, even as he struggled to manage it. Everything felt so good, from the wetness of Dipper's mouth to the sensation of Dipper's tongue along the underside of his dick and Bill was left feeling like he was in heaven.

Sparks of pleasure were igniting from within, traveling throughout his entire being as he went on, thrusting roughly, relishing in Dipper's calm obedience and his affectionate gaze. It was undeniably hot, and Bill was consumed by the urge to choke him while he fucked him. He'd been given permission to touch during this and he knew  _exactly_  how he wanted to do it, overcome with the need for Dipper's complete submission.

Reaching around Dipper's neck with both his hands, he rested them against his warm skin as he continued to pound his mouth. It elicited a questioning look from Dipper, but he didn't request to slow down or stop, expression curious. Gently at first, he applied some pressure– then more, harder, pressing down enough to threaten Dipper's ability to breathe. This seemed to be what caused a bit of a panicked reaction from him, his grip on his thighs tightening, fingertips digging in. Worry was written on his features, and Bill was afraid he'd force him to quit or revoke his touching privileges, relieved and flattered when he didn't. His adorable boyfriend was compliant, maybe to a greater extent than he'd initially realized.

He had no intention of actually harming him, but the sight of his throat working, struggling for breath while still trying to service him was incredibly arousing and spurred on his pleasure. The ecstasy he felt was mounting, growing until he was tipped over the edge and consumed, a blissed moan escaping him. His cock twitched as it erupted deep into Dipper's mouth, shooting his release into his throat, and Bill's grip around his neck slowly loosened as he slumped back against the bed.

With his eyes nearly closed, Bill simply enjoyed the afterglow as he heard Dipper cough a few times, then in the corner of his vision saw the kid lay down beside him. His breathing was still rough and labored, but Bill's thoughts wandered to his soft throat, fantasizing about the possibility of leaving marks on the skin.

Shuffling over slightly to Dipper's side, Bill wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his neck in gratitude, nipping and kissing the skin. "You felt so nice, cutie. Are you doing okay?"

"Ha, uh… I think so, yeah." Dipper sounded out of breath and his voice was scratchy, yet Bill felt his body relaxing into him. "If we do that again sometime, some warning about the choking would've been good, but I'm alright. It was just… surprising, and I didn't know how far you were going to take that." Bringing a hand to his throat, Bill watched in interest as his fingertips brushed the reddened skin. "Kinda hurts."

Well, at least he didn't break him. Bill figured his throat would be raw for the next couple of days, but he liked that– leaving Dipper ruined for all the other men. He was  _his_. "I'll do that next time," he assured him as he kissed his lips, happy to feel the reciprocation. "I didn't hurt your neck too badly, did I, gorgeous?"

"It's fine," he replied. "A bit sore, but…" there was a shrug to end the sentence. With a hint of fresh nervousness as he asked, "Did you, um, like it? Was it good?"

"It was fantastic," Bill told him. "You're getting better, sugar." Probably the best blowjob he had in years. The hookers around Los Santos didn't take kindly to being choked anymore, worthless bitches. "You should take your clothes off, let me repay you, sweetheart."

"Wait, what?" Tensing again, Dipper didn't move. "That's a nice offer and all, but I don't need anything. Seriously, it was enough to just do it for you, so repayment isn't necessary."

Why didn't he want this? He liked the rimjob from last time, didn't he? Bill was a God with his mouth, after all, though in all honesty he planned on fingering him, work his tight hole open, making him squirm as he abused his G-spot until he had Dipper begging to cum. Oh, that was a marvelous thought indeed. "Come on, cutie," he murmured. "I'd like to return the favor."

"Thanks," he said, kissing the corner of his mouth. "But I'm good, actually physically exhausted after that. I'm glad you enjoyed it though, and maybe you can do something for me… some other time, I don't know." At best, it was an incredibly vague dismissal of his offer, and at worst a complete aversion to it.

Bill narrowed his eyes, wondering when Dipper went back to being so tight-legged. Being dismissed didn't sit well with him, and Dipper's… lack of certainty of when he'd be able to 'return the favor' wasn't helping. To make matters worse, his attention was stolen away from Dipper by the buzzing of his phone, and he reached over to see who was texting him. Of course, it had to be  _Stan_ , that asshole.

 **(1:37 PM)**   _hey bill, i got a job for ya_

 **(1:37 PM)**  what do you want?

Aside from carelessly killing off a good portion of his crew over a negligent decision, that was.

 **(1:38 PM)**   _need ya to pick up a package from a client and bring it back to the penthouse_

 **(1:38 PM)**   _i'll send ya their location_

Annoyed, it didn't take long for them to get ready and leave. Dipper was tagging along by choice, claiming he otherwise wouldn't get out today, and he'd brought his personal GPS along for the ride.

On the way to the location, Dipper was attentive, watching out the window and checking his phone and the GPS, tracking their navigation while muttering to himself about what was nearby. It was kind of overboard, how he seemed obsessed with seeing exactly where they were on this journey, as if he actually thought this counted as a job. This was at best an errand for Stan that was semi-related to work, at worst it was a favor they weren't getting paid for.

When they'd arrived, he parked the car in a quiet parking lot downtown to avoid suspicion and gave Dipper explicit instructions to stay in the car, though his hopes weren't high considering what'd happened last time they had a similar job. Maybe the kid would entertain himself with his dumb GPS unit or his phone and stay out of trouble, was that too much to ask for?

Leaving Dipper with the keys, Bill retrieved the package, the walk to and from the indicated spot taking up most of the time. Parking too closely would have aroused suspicion, and he wasn't interested in this taking longer than it should.

And now with the package in hand, Bill headed back to the vehicle, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of Dipper with a tiny gift bag in his lap rather than the GPS unit he'd been expecting. "What's that?" he inquired. "Is it for me? Why, cutie, you shouldn't have." It must've been a gift for how awesome he was, though it left Bill pondering how he got that. It didn't look like he moved an inch, and while there was a mall center nearby, he thought Stan retrieved his card from him.

"Oh, right," Dipper's grip tightened on the gift bag, something within crinkling at the motion. "I did some shopping while you were getting… that," he beckoned toward the package, "whatever that is. I'm not going to ask."

"Probably a vibrating dildo. For Ford's pleasure." Bill snickered softly as he got into the driver's seat, tossing the package in the backseat (Stan's belongings didn't deserve to be treated nicely) as he buckled and started the car.

Wrinkling his nose, Dipper mumbled, "Gross. I really didn't need to hear about that and wish I could erase that from my memory." Good thing they didn't share a wall, hopefully that would be the last he was going to be hearing it. Though it probably wasn't a sex toy, as fun as that would be to tease Ford about.

Pulling the car out of the spot and parking lot, he glanced at the decorative gift bag in Dipper's possession. "So what's in the bag, cutie? You never answered me."

Looking down at the bag in question, Dipper shifted in his seat. "It's a gift and uh, before you ask again, it's not for you. Well, not exactly, but I'll show you what it is if you'll let me make a detour on the way back to the penthouse?" He glanced to him, smiling faintly. "It's hardly a detour, really, it'd just be more like a pitstop but won't take very long."

A gift that wasn't for him? Who else was Dipper seeing,  _behind his back_? Could he kill them? "Where do you want us to stop?" His question was cautious, wondering if Dipper was going to have them stop by someone's house. Bill was glad he had his gun with him today, the pistol within his reach. If Dipper was betraying him or having an affair… he'd be happy to use it.

"I'll navigate us there," he promised, and Bill wondered if he was trying to skirt directly saying it. Oh yes, this confirmed it, he was going to need his gun and could count on murdering whoever the side person was. "All you have to do is turn when I say, and we'll be there shortly. For now, keep going as if we're driving back to the penthouse."

"You never answered my question," Bill idly commented as he followed his instructions. "Why's that, cutie?" Hiding something from him, hm? Another partner? Bill would make him see the error of his ways soon enough.

"Uh, why is what?" Watching Dipper's body language closer than he should've, being the one driving, Bill noticed the nervous brush of his hair. Again, he was squirming like the little wiggle worm he was. Not the most reassuring thing from someone who supposedly didn't have anything to hide. "Wait, are you talking about answering your question of where we're going? I thought it'd be nice to make it a surprise."

A surprise. Was the surprise he was seeing someone else, being unfaithful to Bill? He knew he couldn't trust him, not after his… questionable relationship with Red, or how he talked about Stan  _participating_. Disgusting. "I see." There was a brief moment of silence. "Will we be there soon?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, relaxing now that he apparently thought he was off the hook. "Turn left in about a mile at the traffic light, then it's the first right turn after that."

Bill narrowed his eyes as they neared the traffic light, and he changed lanes and took the turn as directed. The area was beginning to look more familiar to him, a residential district but bordering a more rural side of town, and that raised an eyebrow. This wasn't some… stranger's neighborhood, this was near where he had his dogs' ashes buried. Why were they here? He didn't want to be here, he wasn't ready to be here. "Pine Tree…"

"Yeah?" he answered. Questioningly, he raised his head to the road and brightened as he announced, "Oh, we're almost here. See the cemetery up there?" Any glimmer of hope that this wasn't where Dipper was taking them had been snuffed out, replaced by an uneasiness in his gut. "Park near the curb." But he didn't want to. Showing Dipper this… had been a demonstration of trust, and it felt like a stab in the gut to be brought here as a 'surprise'.

"Why did you bring me here?" His voice was quiet as the car pulled to a stop beside the curb, parking it. Ignoring the question, Dipper was getting out of the car and going around to his side, where he still sat, rigid. Getting out of the vehicle wasn't a priority. In fact, he planned to avoid it unless Dipper had a goddamn amazing reason to stop here.

That didn't seem to be good enough for the kid since he opened the door with a coaxing, "Come on, let's go." And was grabbing his hand, trying to pull him from the safety of the car.

"Stop," Bill snapped, his hand pulling back, and Dipper appeared concerned by the stronger reaction. "What the fuck, Pine Tree? Why did you bring me to this place?" More pleadingly, he added quietly: "Why are you ignoring me?" He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be back at the penthouse. This hurt too badly– his dead dogs he'd never get back, and now Pine Tree, who abused his trust by leading him here.

With his hands and the gift bag now clasped behind his back, Dipper shuffled from foot to foot, lowering his gaze. "I thought we could visit the graves of your dogs today, together?" It was a tentative, shy suggestion, almost watery. "If… if that's not a problem, I mean, but we don't have to."

"I didn't want to be here," he muttered with some misery. Why would Dipper try to pretend this was a surprise? All it did was remind him of what he lost years ago. "It hurts too badly. Like some… fresh fucking wound that keeps reopening."

Because he didn't make a move to join Dipper, he seemed to get the hint and sat down on the curb instead, setting the gift beside himself. Bill didn't care about the gift anymore, had no interest in finding out what it was when he simply wanted to leave. "Please, Bill," he said softly, gazing at him with desperation lingering in the depths of his eyes. He tried to keep his expression stoic, and Dipper sighed. "Look, if it hurts too badly, we can just go back to the penthouse."

He wanted to go back. It was one of the few things he wanted to do right now, but it was difficult to when he could see how disappointed Pine Tree looked. He… hated that too. Fuck his life. Slowly, he moved to exit the vehicle, aware of how his limbs trembled, how he hardly wanted to look at Dipper for  _this_. There was a lump in his throat, and he was afraid speaking would give away his emotion. For all the things he tried to do to improve himself, this almost felt like a punishment.

Rising from the spot on the curb and taking his hand again, Dipper led them into the cemetery, over the rows of graves until he found the plot that housed his beautiful dogs' ashes. Heart sinking, Bill frowned as he saw the familiar gravestone and wished they could be done with this, but Dipper was handing him the gift bag.

With a shaky inhale, he said, "Okay, now you can open it." Did he want to? Would opening it free him from this hell sooner?

Bill let out a small, pained noise as he removed the wrapping from the bag. Within it, he could see two tennis balls, an elephant, and a giraffe. The animals were made of soft rubber material, and upon squeezing one of them, he found it squeaked.

Cheeks a bit red, Dipper wasn't looking at him but rather at something in the distance, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He couldn't help it, the strangled sob that escaped him, and he furiously turned his head away so Dipper wouldn't be able to see the stream of tears that'd began to run down his face. Poppy and Buttercup would've loved these dumb toys. He could see them now, happily Poppy chomping on the giraffe in an attempt to make it squeak as Buttercup pounced on her elephant.

Bill missed them so much.

His thoughts were dispersed as Dipper started to speak, "There was a sporting goods store nearby and I… I knew we were in the area and I guess I just thought maybe, I don't know, your dogs would've liked them, or something." Kicking a foot at the ground, he mumbled more to himself than Bill, "I know it's kind of stupid."

"They would've." It was hard to keep his voice from wavering terribly, to fight the urge to break down even more than he already had. He both hated and loved Dipper right now, for doing this. For putting him through this. "It's not stupid." The only thing stupid was how Bill couldn't pull himself together, but it seemed Dipper was determined to make this better—or maybe worse, he had no idea anymore—when he closed the space between them, leaning forward onto his toes to weave his arms around his neck, bringing him into an affectionate hug.

Resting his chin on his shoulder, Dipper nuzzled into his neck and made no attempt to back away, letting the embrace drag on. He didn't want this, but he found it hard to push away when the affection only broke him down more. It was almost pathetic, how he couldn't control the stream of tears that escaped his eyes. "Why…" he managed, slowly. "Why are you doing this?"

Dipper was so close that he could feel him tense. "Do… you not like it?" It was a breathy warble, so fragile as it waited suspended between them, then he began rambling, "I'm sorry, really. I should've known you wouldn't want this since I know the wound is still fresh with your dogs, and m-maybe we shouldn't have come here, I just thought—"

"That's not what I meant." His voice had cracked, he felt destroyed– shattered, overwhelmed by a combination of sadness over his dogs, over how they couldn't physically enjoy these toys, and warmth that Dipper was… so sweet. "Cutie, you're wonderful. You didn't… you didn't have to do this."

Against him, he relaxed, the relief radiating off of him in waves. "Well, I know I didn't  _have_ to," was his confession. "Since I know you believe in the afterlife stuff, I thought you might appreciate the gesture though." As if afraid of being corrected, he added in a quieter tone, "I'm glad you do."

Bill slowly pushed Dipper away, the process gradual as he had no intention of harming him, but he appeared to take the hint and detached from him with space to spare. Turning back to the grave, he placed the balls and animals on the grass near the gift bag, gazing at the items and tombstone. "I wish they could enjoy them." But they never would because the world was cruel.

"Me too," he agreed, a sigh trailing after the sentiment. There was a pause, then he timidly said, "I'm still sorry for bringing you here unexpectedly. If I had known it was going to be this painful, I… I wouldn't have."

"Don't be." He needed this. It hurt like a bitch, stung him in his heart to visit his dogs outside his own terms, but he was grateful Dipper had given his puppies gifts to enjoy in their afterlife. Maybe when Dipper eventually joined them, they'd have the elephant and giraffe in their mouths as they greeted him. His dogs and Dipper would get along perfectly, they were the sweetest creatures to ever walk this planet. "You're wonderful, Pine Rose."

Gaze trained to his feet, he seemed caught off guard by the compliment and cleared his throat, appearing uncertain of what to say. "Thanks, that… means a lot, really." Turning back to the car, he made a weak gesture in the direction of the exit. "We don't have to stay any longer than you'd like to. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Bill didn't feel that uncomfortable anymore. He was still upset, but it wasn't directed at or because of Dipper. He just missed his golden ladies so much.

"Give me a moment." He wished he knew they were okay, that they were being taken care of in the stars. He'd never know, not until the end of his days arrived.

"Okay," out of the corner of his eye, he saw his shoulders lift in a shrug, "there's no rush or anything, so let me know when you're ready to leave I guess." There was some shuffling, and Dipper sat on the dried grass of a nearby space between two plots, patiently watching him. Bill was glad he was with him– anyone else, and they'd be nagging him to get going. Being with Dipper was calming, it helped him cope with this mess and it filled him with a familiar warmth, a comfort created by his mere presence.

He was sure he loved the kid, and though he wanted to tell him, he couldn't. He figured expressing how deeply his feelings ran would cause Dipper to feel awkward about it, aware they hadn't been in an actual relationship that long. As far as he knew, it could ruin what they had going. It was plain to see the kid didn't fully trust him after all the shit he pulled in the past. Bill knew he got attached too easily, and this… this was probably no different. A heat-of-the-moment emotion that would die just like his dogs. How could it last? His previous attempts of loving others had been a failure, and he wasn't an idiot; he knew his relationship with Dipper was in a perpetual state of strained, further worsened by his fuck ups and Dipper's inability to move past them completely. The kid could be affectionate toward him, but the traces of distrust that'd been there since the beginning, while lesser now, were a reminder of his mistakes.

Bill turned away from the grave and began to head to the cemetery gates, glancing back to see if Dipper was following. "You coming, cutie?"

"Yeah, hold up a second." Hoisting himself to his feet and dusting his jeans off, Dipper was scampering after him and had caught up after a few abnormally long strides. They walked side by side to the car, wordlessly, though nothing more needed to be said between them. As he held the gate open for Dipper to walk through, then trailed after, it marked the closing of a bittersweet journey to his dogs' final resting place.

Getting into the vehicle, he didn't wait to start it again, listening to it roar to life as his partner in crime climbed into the passenger seat. "Want to grab something to eat?" he asked Dipper, aiming to put this behind them.

"Oh, uh…" Dipper trailed off in thought, hesitating and appearing conflicted— maybe hurt, though Bill didn't know why. "I'm not really that hungry." Strange, since neither had eaten in quite a few hours. "Let's go to the penthouse, Mabel's probably back by now anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a bit! We've been trying to give ourselves extra time to work on Chap. 31. Much like the anticipated internalized homophobia breakdown in C24, it's one of those chapters with a highly expected & critical plot point, and we're hoping to get it just right. With that said, we're aiming to have that update here on Wednesday, but it may have to wait until Sunday again.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): mention of suicide, unhealthy perceptions of body image, underage drinking, underage sex referenced
> 
> Sorry about the lack of comment replies, this weekend has been crazy busy and we're both exhausted but will get to them soon. Thanks for being patient, hope you enjoy this overdue chapter. For: theincognitoburrito, zeo_nulla, Piqued Penguin, Acewolf, Violet_arabian, alpha_dawg, NovaGlitch, & GravityInReverse. <3

Stan and Mabel looked full and satisfied after near-devouring one of his home-cooked dinners, both of the lazies splayed on the sectional sofa and lacking a care in the world. Dipper mused about how Bill probably would've been here looking equally satiated if he hadn't been forced to take a phone call almost immediately once he was done eating, departing for the balcony to answer it away from the loudness of Stan and Mabel. But nevertheless, the sight brought a smile to Dipper's face despite the pang of hunger still reminding him of how his own food went partially untouched, then eventually forfeited to Stan when asked if he was going to finish that. Although he'd intended on saving the rest for tomorrow, feeding the Bottomless Pit of Stan had also worked and would sufficiently ensure overeating didn't occur.

Lighting the room with a glow, the television featured some sitcom, and Stan and Mabel were busy chatting in the background. Something about being bored and having nothing to do, but Dipper wasn't too interested and collected the plates to stack them by the sink. They'd created quite an extensive pile up, entering the second and last day of Ford being gone— he usually took care of it.

Leaving the plates near the other dirty dishes, Dipper headed into the main living space in time to hear Stan proclaim he'd gotten "the greatest idea" but didn't wait around to hear what it was since he was already halfway through the sliding door. The warm rush of night air would've been a nice greeting, if not for the ever-present smell of pollution.

Gaze flicking to Bill, hunched in a relaxed stance and leaning over the railing, he admired how moonlight splashed over his sharp features, creeping over his suspenders and under the collar of his formal dress shirt. Dipper's breath staggered as he noticed the topmost buttons were undone, and to avoid being caught staring, he forced his eyes to instead focus on the discarded jacket and vest strewn atop the metal rail. Despite his attempts, the mental image of an under-clothed Bill (at least for his standards) remained. It was enough to draw him in for a few seconds, only remembering to slide the door shut again when Bill peered over his shoulder to look at him.

He was given a nod in greeting, the acknowledgement sending butterflies into his stomach, before Bill turned away. "Alright. Get in, kill him, take the necklace." Dipper frowned, regretting overhearing that part of the conversation. He could have gone without knowing his boyfriend was being hired to kill and rob somebody. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"

Dipper advanced toward Bill, rolling forward onto the pads of his feet until he could comfortably hug him from behind, nuzzling into the nape of his neck and trying to ignore the strands of blond hair tickling his nose that threatened to trigger a sneezing fit. Although he could distantly hear the other voice on the line, it was unintelligible. Beneath him, Bill tensed, and he squirmed away as he continued speaking into his phone. Dipper released him, backing up a few steps to offer a questioning expression, waiting for some nonverbal explanation that never arrived.

"You want me to frame the gardener? Stars, I know he cheated on you, but planting evidence to make his mistress seem guilty seems  _easy_. You should have me… get rid of their children." Making a face, he elbowed Bill for the suggestion, hoping he was joking about that part. Or at least hoping the children weren't  _children_ but rather over the age of eighteen if he was going to do a hit on them. Not that he was an advocate for that either, as it could inflict just as much emotional damage, knowledge he'd gained from experience.

"Yes," he said. "I'll get it done. I'll let you know when everything's taken care of, okay?" The call ended in a click, and he looked at Dipper as he lowered his phone and slipped it into a pocket of his slacks. "Cutie, what're you doing? I thought you were hanging out with Stan and Shooting Star."

"Came to see what you were doing," Dipper explained with a rub of his arm, using his peripheral vision to check on Stan and Mabel through the glass window. They seemed more excited than before, talking to each other with wild hand gestures and enthusiastic voices that could be heard even from the balcony. Snapping his eyes back to Bill, he swept them over his body and sheepishly complimented, "You look… good tonight." A cough. "Any reason you're uh, going with the whole," he hung on that word for a second, scuffing his heel against the pavement, "'shirt-partially-unbuttoned' style?" And it was nice, showing the very beginnings of the tattoos on his chest, his sleeves bunched up to boast a muscular form.

Bill raised his eyebrow at him. "It's humid as fuck, why would I be dressed up? I'm not here to have a heat stroke, sugar." More appropriately, he was out here to give a heat stroke, considering what his appearance was doing to Dipper.

"Oh, right," he said with another cough, this one morphing into a laugh. "I didn't notice, but I guess it is pretty warm out." The heat didn't bother him, still wearing his casual shirt and loose-fitting pants, though he wondered if Bill appreciated the efforts he'd taken to lose weight if it was even noticeable yet. It'd felt like nothing changed when he looked in the mirror, despite the scale saying otherwise. To him, the numbers didn't mean anything, the approval of Bill was his measurement system.

"Hot as shit." Weather aside, Bill definitely got that right, Dipper internally noted. "It's like I'm back down south." Bill moved to sit on the balcony sofa, beckoning Dipper to join him. "You look nice, cutie."

"Southern boy," he teased through a slow exhale as he approached Bill, pausing a step or two short to look down at himself, a thrilling burst of adrenaline coming alive within and a flood of uneasiness. "Do you really think so?" It was more vulnerable than he thought it'd be, but he'd been working hard to eat in smaller portions or skipping the meal to slim down these last few days.

Rather than sitting on the cushion with a bullet hole through it from an earlier interaction, Dipper pressed his digits into Bill's suspender-clad shoulders as he situated himself on his lap, legs folded on each side of his. Bill chuckled softly, moving to plant a kiss to his lips. "Yes, I do. Should make you strip for me." His hands slid along the side of his legs, beginning to feel him, though Dipper tried his best to avoid tensing under the touch, terrified he would slide his hands upward onto his torso. This time, he mentally promised not to stop him after such a nice compliment about his figure, but he fretted over how comfortable he'd be with it.

"After that phone call? I don't know," he said with a grin and an inflection of mock-disapproval. "And if you haven't noticed, we're sort of somewhere that people could see if I started stripping for you." Those people being the residents of this area of Los Santos, including Stan and Mabel.

"Do you think I'd have a problem with that?" Bill teased, squeezing his ass gently. "Let the world see how you're  _mine_ , cutie." The marks on his neck probably would accomplish that without any stripping.

Thinly-veiled grinding was disguised as squirming, sparing a cautious look over his shoulder at the city below them, then to Stan and Mabel inside. Attention drifting to Bill, he asked, "Can't you make me yours in the bedroom? And besides, I'm not sure how I feel about stripping, we can probably do stuff with our clothes on."

Bill moved to thrust him against him in response to the grinding, smirking. "Where's the fun in that, doll? Let me get a taste of you naked, it'll be good."

Self-consciousness gnawed at him, and he leaned against Bill to avoid letting him catch sight of the frown that'd taken over his lips. It'd been a while since Bill saw him in a state of undress, several days at the least, ever since the comment about being overweight. It'd knocked his self image down a peg or two or fifty, and while he felt he was getting better—Bill's praise and the pounds dropping away—he wasn't ready to be without the barrier of clothing. Bill could be as free of clothing as he wished, but Dipper didn't want to shed a single garment around Bill, not until the confidence in himself had been restored. Quietly, and with no intention on following through, he said, "Maybe."

Dipper leaned back to see Bill's eyes narrowed at him, his hand purposely moving to brush against his groin. "Only a maybe, doll?"

Shrugging, he said, "I mean, you don't really have to do anything for me anyway. I could give you another blowjob, you could choke me or whatever, I don't mind." This had been his default plan recently: redirect intimacy to focus only on Bill, and at first, he seemed happy albeit slightly pushy about reciprocating. The problem was, it was becoming increasingly apparent that he wasn't satisfied with that.

"I  _want_  to do stuff to you," Bill informed him. "I like it when you're squirming beneath me from the pleasure, then coming undone because of what I'm doing to you."

"And trust me, I like that too," he reassured, mind working overtime to come up with a suitable excuse. "But—"

"Alright then," he interrupted, and Dipper blinked. "Let's get to it, cutie!" Bill moved him off his lap, only to get up and pull Dipper to his feet, basically dragging him to the balcony door and inside. Without much time to react, a string of protests tumbled from him, but they were silenced when Mabel yelled his name in excitement.

Suddenly attentive, Dipper stopped in his tracks, forcing Bill to as well. "Stan got the most  _amazing_ idea, he said the crew— well, just us, we're going to a nightclub!" Mabel shook his shoulders, grinning. "It's a mandatory fun night, and we can do it as long as nobody tells Ford once he comes back tomorrow. Doesn't that sound great?"

"Oh, uh, sure," Dipper agreed, though he didn't know which he'd feel more uncomfortable with: visiting a nightclub, or Bill seeing the little spots of pudge that he hadn't been able to eradicate yet. The latter was more nerve-wracking, afraid it wouldn't be good enough, would result in Bill feeling unattracted to him. To Bill, he asked, "Do you want to go?"

"It's  _mandatory_ ," Stan barked. "He has to go if he wants to keep his spot in the crew." Bill scowled at that, undoubtedly annoyed his plans were being derailed, but Dipper was somewhat relieved.

"We'll continue there," Bill told Dipper as his attention returned to him, eyes gleaming. "Find a nice, cozy corner to settle into."

No, they weren't doing that. "That's gross. You were telling me all about how you hated public transport because it's dirty, do you have any idea how much more disgusting a nightclub will be?" Though he wasn't very experienced in the scene and didn't frequent those venues, he could safely deduce it'd be worse than transportation options.

"Come on, Dipper," Mabel was interrupting the conversation, grabbing him by the hand and leading him somewhere or another. A welcome break, considering he wasn't budging on his stance about resuming sexual activities in a nightclub.

"Where are we going?" he asked, a skip in his step to catch up to her.

"I know you don't like going out, so I'm gonna help you find something that makes you look and feel fabulous tonight." If they were going to be forced into a night on the town, the least he could do was look great for Bill throughout his mandatory attendance.

And it seemed 'look great' was pretty much sporting his usual look of a plaid shirt and skinny jeans since he'd insisted on it, but he'd had Mabel's help in finding a way to thin himself in appearance. It was a minor change, one she'd suggested, and he figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. Slimming came in the form of tying one of Bill's bow ties around his waist, the bow resting atop the small of his back. She swore it made him look adorable, he just hoped it'd make the shirt more form fitting, plaid being rather problematic in that regard.

As a result, Bill kept shooting him weird looks to the point where he was glaring at the bowtie Dipper had taken — it wasn't the goal, but funny nonetheless. The group made their way to the garage, collecting in Stan's car with Mabel joining Bill in the back at the request of Stan, likely a way to offset any attempts from Bill at renewing their sexual activities, but that left him in the passenger seat as Stan drove.

The drive was fine, initially. Although he'd been concerned Stan would use this time to have their one-on-one conversation, that didn't appear to be so, which was a relief since his aversion method wouldn't work forever. Mabel talked to Bill, Bill seemed displeased with the arrangement but compliant, and Dipper was mostly a quiet observer to the conversations happening, at least until Stan addressed him.

"So kid," Stan cleared his throat over the noise of Mabel and Bill talking in the backseat. "Do ya… do ya know what your parents' relationship was like?" That was a question worthy of an eyebrow furrow and confused glance, wondering why  _that_ had emerged as a suitable topic. "Did they, y'know, actually love each other?"

As far as he knew, they were very much enamored with one another and seemed to have a healthy relationship. Luckily, the thought of his parents didn't bring tears to his eyes, but the heavy weight of grief lingered, perhaps a bit subdued by the strangeness of the inquiry. "Well, I guess—"

Stan cut in again, grip tightening on the steering wheel, "Or was it more of a 'let's stay together for the kids' sorta deal?"

Unamused, his expression flattened. "I don't like you without Ford. You're weird without Ford."

"I'm not bein'  _weird_ , I'm askin' a normal question. Making conversation, gettin' to know ya better, the works."

"Okay, fine," Dipper relented with a sigh, leaning into the cushion of the seat. "Let's see… they always seemed pretty happy together, and I don't think they had many fights, but they wouldn't do it in front of Mabel and me anyway. I guess I don't really know, but yeah, I think they had a pleasant marriage." Shifting his eyes to Stan, he followed that up with one of his own, "Any reason you asked such a 'normal question'?"

Stan coughed, glancing away. "No reason, kid. Just… were they friends, or did they secretly hate each other? I can't imagine they were entirely happy 'cause… y'know, they had ya young as fuck."

"If they weren't entirely happy, I didn't know about it," Dipper said. "They never seemed to  _dislike_ each other. Why?" It still didn't make sense, the reason Stan had such personal questions that he didn't have concrete answers to. "Is that too decent of a childhood to be a part of the Owls or something?"

"I never said that," Stan said. "Hey, don't get all moody. I'm just bein' curious, okay? There's no harm in askin'." It was a defensive spiel, and after a critical stare from Dipper, Stan paused and seemed to struggle with some internal battle. "I got an idea, let's talk about our first tussle in bed!"

Dipper's face paled, filled with a new respect for Stan's usual copilot, Ford. "Wait, no, I liked the other subject better." Stan asking about when he'd lost his very-much-intact virginity was about as awkward as it could get, maybe worse than if his own parents had asked the same. "Can we go back to that one?" Questions about his  _dead parents_ were more comfortable than this.

Mabel had stopped her almost-one-sided discussion with Bill to peer at them. "What're you talking about?!" she demanded. "Can I join? Bill's no fun, he won't open up about why he's a broody-brooderson."

"I'm plenty  _fun_ ," Bill near-growled at her. "You just keep yapping away like a stupid Chihuahua."

"Hey, be nice to each other," Dipper chided, wishing Stan hadn't made these seating arrangements. It seemingly made no difference to Mabel, who was willing to talk Bill into oblivion, but a glance at the mirror suggested Bill was miserable with her constant-chattering. Meanwhile, he was stuck in front with the guy determined to ask strange questions. To address Mabel's interest in their conversation, he said, "You… uh, you don't need to be a part of this discussion. Not that we wouldn't like to have you, but I'm pretty sure Stan threw personal boundaries out the window a while ago."

"I wanna join!" Mabel protested, wiggling in her seat to lean forward onto the console. "What're we talking about?"

"The first time we got laid," Stan told her. She beamed. Dipper facepalmed.

"Ooh, I have the perfect story for this!" Mabel squealed. "Okay, so it was—"

Although he didn't exactly want to be rude and stop Mabel from sharing, he asked, "Can we talk about something different? I don't really see why it  _has_ to be this when there are plenty of other topics like… what nightclub we're going to, how long the mandatory stay is—"

"—tenth grade, and there was this  _super_  cute boy, like ohmygosh, I'd totally do him again, and it started off with us giving each other the  _look_ , and then we started talking, and one thing led to another and we started making out in the janitor's closet so the teacher's couldn't yell at us about 'PDA.' Theenn, he asked me out! And we went out to a restaurant and by the end of the night we were doing it in his parents' truck like bunnies. It didn't last that long!"

Beside her, Bill chuckled. "Seriously? I got my first taste of pussy when I was thirteen."

"Dude." He frowned, making a face at the thought of a thirteen-year-old Bill sleeping with somebody, a disturbing picture he didn't want in his memory. "That's… are you seriously telling us about this?"

"Everything's legal in Florida," Bill said, and Dipper narrowed his eyes since it definitely was not. "Besides, she was my age too. I wanted to show her something I accidentally saw my parents do, fucked her, then called her a 'beached whale.'" Putting aside his concern over Bill's parents' bedroom habits, it was hard to avoid wincing at that, remembering Bill's own rough comment about his weight.

"I'm pretty sure you just made most of that up," he said dryly, but wasn't sure if that was based on the unlikeliness of the situation or plain hoping it wasn't true. Trying to move on from that, Dipper turned to Stan and said, "So you decided to talk about this to begin with. Are you going to share what your first time was like or…?"

Stan gazed distantly at the windshield, then gave a pointed look to Bill via the mirror. "It wasn't with Ford, that's for sure." His laugh was quiet. "Ah, we did it in the back of my car. It was both of our first times." There was a chime of collective 'ewws' from the backseat, and he saw Mabel and Bill leaning into their doors. "Give it a rest. Not this car."

"Weird vehicle theme," he commented, though he guessed he didn't know if Bill's was in a luxury car or on his king sized bed in his parents' mansion, details that had been bitterly inferred from his understanding of that family's wealth. Happy to leave the subject behind now that share-time had ended, he glanced to the digital clock of the car and asked, "Are we almost to the nightclub?"

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Stan answered. "But in the meantime, what about ya, kid? Your sister shared hers." Well, the problem was he had nothing to share, and he was fairly certain everybody in this car knew that.

"Virginity loss story? Yeah, I don't really have anything," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "I thought you guys already knew that." Bill shouted it from the rooftops whenever he had the opportunity, and Mabel would've figured it out from the simple fact that he hadn't told her anything yet. Stan probably heard through Bill, but he guessed there was a possibility that wasn't true.

Bill kept a deadpan expression. "I told you he still has the virgin walk, and he won't even let me fix that."

"Can you not?" he muttered, leaning against the window and brushing a hand through his hair. "There's nothing to fix, and at least I'm being honest rather than making up some bullshit about getting laid at thirteen."

"I  _am_  being honest," Bill snapped, immediately returning to his irritable state. "Of course you wouldn't believe me." Silly him, why wouldn't he automatically believe the guy who'd repeatedly lied to him and others in the past about everything ranging from seemingly insignificant to major life details?

Unconvinced but unwilling to escalate this into a fight when Mabel and Stan already appeared far too invested in where it was headed, he sighed. "Look, I believe you." Whether he did or not wasn't important, it was more about allowing the situation to calm again, avoiding an unnecessary argument while trapped in a confined space together. It was a problem they could tackle later.

The response he received was Bill squinting his eyes at him distrustfully. "Yeah, right."

Stan seemed disappointed by the turn of events. "No fighting? What the hell? I was lookin' forward to it!"

When they pulled into the parking lot of a nightclub, one next to the ocean, he breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad we're finally here." Driving had been exhausting with those three, he preferred just Bill, or even Bill and Mabel. Adding Stan into it had erupted everything into chaos and awkward subjects.

Getting past security was a challenge he hadn't considered, but it didn't seem to matter: one look at Stan and they were being ushered through the doors. Inside the nightclub was worse than the car, as expected, but it eliminated the possibility of comfortable conversation— the music was loud, the lights were bright and obnoxiously all over the place, the crowd wasn't rowdy but was thick. Mabel had ditched them for the pounding music and dance floor, not a surprise to Dipper, and neither was the fact that Stan had immediately escorted himself to the bar.

Beside him, Bill leaned over to kiss just below his ear. "Cutie," he murmured, but he could barely hear it over the music. "We should find a quiet corner, resume where we left off." Quiet corners didn't exist in this alternate universe of reckless partying, he thought to himself, peering around the building. There were darker corners, but none suitable for the kinds of activities Bill had in mind.

"In here?" he asked with a nose wrinkle, still put off by the idea of doing anything sexual in the presence of all these people—most more than a little intoxicated—and within the confines of a dirty club. Rubbing his arm, he said sheepishly, "I already said I didn't want to do anything like that."

"Come on, sugar, don't be such a stick in the mud. You'll love it." He winked at him. "It'll really fill you up."

"I don't like it here, I don't like  _nightclubs_ ," he admitted, having to up his tone to ensure it carried over the sound of the blaring beat. "It's loud… and it's giving me a headache, and I'm just staying until Stan is too drunk to figure out if I'm around or not." This apparently mandatory outing of fun was wearing him down faster than an evening in the penthouse would have.

Bill let out a huff, planting a kiss to his cheek. "Want a drink, doll? You're looking a bit stiff."

The mere thought of drinking had him tensing more, giving Bill a worried stare. "I… I don't know. Don't you remember what happened last time?" The incident remained painful, being unsure of the events of that evening since he'd gotten too drunk to remember anything. "I guess as long as you make sure I don't have a lot?" Quieter and more pleadingly, he said, "Please don't let me drink as much this time."

"I won't. Don't worry your stars about that." He beckoned him to join him, heading toward the circular bar to get a couple drinks. To his relief, it was slightly less chaotic over here, away from the area reserved for dancing. "One drink won't knock your ass out."

"Okay," he agreed with some hesitance, joining Bill on the next barstool, but the wood creaking under his weight made his stomach twist. "How many do you think Stan has had?" Dipper wasn't keeping an eye on him, but he could guess he wasn't going to be the most responsible about this, he never was when Ford wasn't there to stop him. "How are we going to drive home? There's no way he'll be sober enough tonight." Mabel could do it, assuming Bill wouldn't.

The drinks came after a couple moments, and Bill passed the multi-colored one to Dipper, which he tapped his fingers on nervously. "Stan hasn't had enough yet, and as for driving home, don't worry about it, cutie." Yeah, that didn't help. Now he was worried about it. "Worse case scenario? We get a cab." He took a drink of… of whatever he'd ordered, Dipper hadn't been paying attention, but it looked dark and the scent was bitter.

"Cabs are grosser than public transportation," he said, wincing. "Try ridesharing. It's cheaper, cleaner, and your fake Russian accent won't be ten times better than the cab driver's." And the end of the sentence was marked with a sip of his beverage, always surprised by the strong sting of the alcohol in it despite the fruity flavor.

Bill shot him a glare. "I'll make  _you_  ride  _alone_  in a yellow cab for that, Pine Tree."

"Sure," he rolled his eyes, "you're going to get me buzzed and then send me alone to some stranger's car. Real nice, Bill. Should I be on the lookout for a new heterosexual-life-partner-boyfriend?"

"Why would you replace me?" he questioned as Dipper took another drink. "You can't do better than me, cutie."

Uncertain of what the intended implication was, he inquired, "Are you saying that  _I_  can't do better, or that nobody else is better than you?" While he otherwise may have asked jokingly, he wasn't sure anymore— he hadn't had any other romantic relationships in his life, and… and now Bill had outright suggested he was overweight, leading him to wonder if Bill genuinely viewed him as unattractive after witnessing the disgust on his features a while ago.

Bill grinned at him, kissing his nose. "I'm the best doll, everyone else sucks in comparison to me. You can't do better, since you've already got the most amazing boyfriend." That was reassuring, and Dipper relaxed into his side with an appreciative hum as Bill took another drink.

"Wish I had a better boss that didn't make us come to a dingy nightclub," Dipper said mostly to himself. "I'm not even officially part of the crew! I get that Mabel and Stan like these things, but— what about you? When was the last time you were actually at a nightclub, aside from the time with me?"

"Maybe a day or two before you got here," he responded, finishing his glass and beckoning for the bartender to refill it. "A couple months ago."

Puzzled, he tilted his head, "What? Why?" It was hard to imagine anybody enjoying themselves at one of these places with its headache-inducing surroundings, but it was Bill, the same Bill who'd demonstrated a love for partying and chaotic atmospheres, so this would be perfect for his tastes.

Bill gave him a confused look. "Why not? It's fucking  _fun_ , cutie. You should come here more often, I think you'd warm up to it."

"I'm already pretty sure I'll need a shower after just setting foot in here." Illicit drugs were probably floating around among the drunk people dancing on an overcrowded dance floor. Taking a sip of his fruity monstrosity, Dipper asked, "But if it's so fun, why haven't you been to one in almost three months?" Excluding the one time they'd gone to meet Bill's… friend, as questionable as that excursion had been in hindsight.

"Well," Bill mused. "I would've, but I've been spending a lot of time with you and I figured you probably wouldn't like it too much if I dragged you along. It's convenient Stan did it for me, in a way." He shrugged, downing another glass of alcohol.

Although he wasn't sure it would be visible under the technicolor lights of the nightclub, he felt his cheeks warming as he averted his gaze, a shy smile playing on his lips. "Oh, I didn't know that, but uh, if you want to go out like this more...?" It was a tentative offer, one he couldn't imagine would be received too well since he'd done very little except complain about the establishment. "You're right," he said after brief deliberation, "I don't like partying, but I don't want to be the reason you can't."

His preferred outing together would be a drive, a quiet evening on the penthouse balcony, stargazing in a remote location, maybe staying the night at Bill's country house. It was more serene, relaxing.

Bill glanced away, looking around the bustling building. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, doll. You seem tense. Do you want some more?" he gestured toward Dipper's glass.

"I probably shouldn't," he said softly, swishing what liquid remained in the glass. Another drink wouldn't be enough to put him under, maybe, but he didn't know what would anymore. "What happened at the banquet has… ruined this for me, I guess. I feel like I have to be extra careful about it, so I don't go overboard and blackout again."

Clearing his throat, he didn't want to dwell on that and instead asked, "So why were you giving me weird looks on the way over here?" As much as he wished to forget the majority of that car ride, this was one aspect that remained mysterious, though he had a feeling it was tied to his clothing choice.

"Hm? Oh." Bill scowled. "You stole my fucking bowtie."

"Ha," he let out a tiny laugh, looking down at the fabric wrapped around his waist, the bow on his back, "right, I kind of forgot about that. It was Mabel's idea, so I went with it because she knows more about fashion than I do." He grinned lopsidedly. "I have to look good for the  _most amazing boyfriend_ , don't I?"

Bill shook his head, though he was faintly smiling. "I can't believe you'd listen to her, robbing me of my bowtie."

"I won't take it again," he promised, finishing off the last of his beverage. While fairly certain Bill didn't mind, it wasn't a risk he was going to gamble with in the future. "It's only for tonight."

"Oh, cutie," Bill hummed. "Relax, don't worry about it. Would you like to dance?"

"Like, on the dance floor?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to the swarm of people gathered around the DJ booth, speakers still thumping. Squinting did nothing to help him pick out Mabel among the others, but he assumed she was still there within the wave of swaying people. "With… everybody else?"

"Where else would we dance?" Bill inquired in amusement. "The dance floor's not going to bite you, honey."

"I don't know! It's just… I don't know how to dance like that. Look at them," he said while motioning to the nightclub's guests. "I don't even know what they're doing." The dances varied between jumping and grinding to actual dance moves and he didn't think he could do any of it without appearing ridiculously out of his element and flopping all over the dance floor like an uncoordinated goldfish.

Bill huffed lowly, leaning to kiss his jawline. "You can't learn if you're unwilling to go out there, sugar. Give it a shot."

"Do  _you_ know how to do it without looking stupid and awkward?" he asked, then groaned. "Well, obviously you do, you did theater during high school and college." Not the same type of dancing, but Bill would have more graceful movements, better control over his body while attempting those moves. "You can go if you want. I… don't dance, okay?"

"I'm sure you do dance," Bill insisted. "Just wiggle your ass around, you'll look fine."

Not a second closer to caving, he shook his head stubbornly. "I don't see why you need me to do this, can't you go out and dance if that's what you want to do? I'll just… stay here, or step outside, I don't know." It didn't matter, it would be less nerve-wracking and wouldn't have the potential to endlessly embarrass him.

Appearing frustrated, Bill frowned at him and said, "I wanted to dance with you, doll. That's the point." There was a moment of deliberation in which Dipper gazed mindlessly at his emptied glass, and Bill spoke again, "Do you want to go outside?"

"What, are we going to brawl?" he raised an eyebrow. "Yeah okay, pay the tab and let's go outside and talk about this." It was hard to do within the confines of the nightclub anyway with the music threatening to drown them out, the whoops and whistles and yelling of patrons right along with it.

When they were finally out of the building and into the significantly more serene, calmer, parking lot, Dipper took a seat on the curb. He mused about how it was amazing the hot night air was a welcome adjustment after being trapped in a stuffy nightclub. Not only that, but he could  _breathe_ out here without inhaling the perfumes and sweat of its patrons, cigarette smoke, and traces of booze. The air was fresher, being next to the ocean, and it was more peaceful because while there was still the thumping of the beat that resounded, he could hear himself thinking again, and wondered if this was the reason Bill wanted to leave for a bit.

Bill exhaled a sigh, looking around before his gaze returned to him. "We should go to the back." The statement was accompanied by a thumb jabbing over his shoulder, indicating the spot.

"The beach," he inferred, quizzical. Although he tilted his head, he didn't protest as Bill took his hand and walked him to the backside of the club, leading him down the sand-lined shore to where the water met land. Each step greeted him with cooler temperatures and gradually, the spray of the salty water. "Why down here? I don't mind, but…"

"I wanted to dance," Bill responded, ignoring Dipper's glance of surprise. "And.. I thought you'd like it better. It's quiet. Away from the crowd."

"Well, yeah, it is," he agreed, sheepishly kicking a foot through the sand particles, watching the way it fell from his shoe onto the beach. "I already told you I don't… really,  _dance_ , not like they were doing in there with their weird moves and uh, grinding. Besides, there isn't any music here." Aside from the low beat from the club in the background, and the waves crashing upon the shore then dragging out to sea; the latter was rather pleasant to listen to, a rhythmic tune of nature.

Bill shook his head. "I didn't say anything about that dance style, cutie. You seemed to have  _another_  dance style in mind, so do it." He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, unlocking it and opening up a music tab, noise beginning to resound from his phone. "Come on, cutie, let's have some fun."

Shifting his weight, he admitted, "I kind of know how to slow dance, maybe? Like, I know how to do it in theory." It wasn't something he really practiced before, merely a skill his parents had suggested he learn for his future. "But I don't know— would you want to do that?"

"Of course. I've been saying I've wanted to dance with you for the last ten minutes, doll."

"Okay, uh," he swallowed, trying to gather his courage, "...alright. I guess we can try it for a bit." Fingertips twitching, Dipper closed the space between them and rested his hands on Bill's shoulders. Uncertainty in his eyes and voice, he asked, "Is this okay?"

Bill smirked at him. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, sugar?" His hands moved to rest on his hips.

"I'm a little cold," he admitted with a self-conscious laugh, "but I'm guessing that's because we're beside the ocean." It was warmer being pressed against Bill, and he leaned into him affectionately. "But yeah, this is okay. I like it." It was more like a hug right now, not exactly what he'd consider traditional dancing, but it was nice.

"This'll warm you up," he teased, drawing Dipper closer to his chest. "I like this too." Starting to move, Bill took a step back, Dipper following his lead.

Then a step to the side, and a step forward, and he was trying his best to keep the gentle tempo that Bill had set. It was sort of a swaying dance, slow and easy, and it was relaxing more than anxiety-inducing. "It's funny," he commented quietly, "my parents said this would be useful to know, but this is basically the first time it's ever come up." And with a pang in his heart, he realized they would never know it was finally handy.

Bill gently snickered. "Yeah, and mine thought etiquette school would be useful. We can use this  _skill_  of yours more often if you'd like, sweetheart. Keep that booty of yours swaying to the sound of shitty pop music."

"Etiquette school, huh? Is that what rich parents like to put their kids through for their own amusement?" Honestly, Dipper hadn't realized anybody took those classes, let alone learned anything from them. "Yeah, we could do this more often," he agreed, "it's weird slow-dancing to this music, but it's… relaxing." The steps were coming more naturally now, able to predict where Bill was going to step and doing the same in time to his slow pace. It was less ragged and staggered, the steps gliding together as if they were dancing as one entity rather than two separate forms.

"It's what my rich fucks of parents did," he answered. "I hated it. I don't  _care_  about the difference between a salad fork or a dinner fork, or an oyster fork. If I'm out of one I'm using the fucking other."

Dipper laughed, pressing his forehead to Bill's collarbone to hide his grin. "Is this why you're so adamant about being a Southern gentleman? Because you've gone through training to prove it?" Granted, Bill hadn't explicitly said he'd graduated from the program, but he assumed he had.

"You," Bill moved to kiss his nose when he peered up, "have no proof." Features bright and smiling, Bill's eyes drifted over him. "Can I tell you something, cutie?"

The request hadn't been anticipated, but Dipper's curiosity was piqued as he peered to Bill again, liking the way the starry sky framed his handsome face. Times like these made him tempted to forget about their rougher nights, how Bill had called him fat and ignited the insecurity that'd followed, everything he'd done wrong seemed like it could be wiped away by this sincere moments together like the waves pulling sand out to sea, slow-dancing on the edge of the ocean. "Yeah," it was a bit breathless as he looked to Bill's gaze, caught in the golden gleam and tiny pool of glittering blue, "anything."

He kissed his cheek, grinning slightly. "Remember what I said earlier about my bowtie? Well, you look good in that bow. I should get you more." A warmth erupted in him, fueled by a compliment he didn't realize he needed to hear until it was said, shooting a giddy joy throughout Dipper. If Bill liked the bowtie around his waist, maybe eating less was making a difference in his appearance after all, though he hadn't noticed drastic changes.

"To wear like this or around my neck?" In his hair was another suitable location (according to Bill), but he guessed that wasn't what he was talking about.

"How it is." Bill paused, as if he was in thought. "Could also wear it as a garter belt. Get you some stockings."

Blushing, his frame tensed at the idea. "I would do it if you're willing to share your bowties, and get me the stockings." If all he had to do was wear it for Bill, that was easily done and would reinstate some confidence in his body shape. Some combination of worried and genuinely curious, he inquired, "Do you think I'd look good in that?" There was a pause before he went on softly, "...I want to look good for you."

"You'd look amazing," Bill told him, and Dipper felt a rush of elation, gratefully nuzzling Bill as their gentle swaying steps of a slowdance continued. "You already look so stunning, cutie." Shivers climbed his spine as Bill ran fingers along his hips. "Marvelous."

* * *

Another heist meant another thirty minutes of preparation and nonstop disorganization in the penthouse. Stan and Ford were gathering supplies while Mabel had a million questions for them; it was impressive how Stan tried to juggle both attending to her inquiries and staying on Ford's strict schedule. Bill was gearing up, strapping on his combat vest and checking the clips of his pistols. Soos, still recovering from his burns, wasn't around for this mission.

"Hey, dude." Wendy plopped down beside him and gave an affectionate punch in the shoulder, which nearly knocked him off balance. Dipper was perched on the armrest of the sectional sofa, leaning against the backing. "Are you coming with today or slacking off?" she asked with a motion toward him, bringing attention to his total lack of gear.

Repositioning, he chuckled, "I, uh, I'll get my stuff on soon. Just… yeah, slacking off." Although under normal circumstances he would've been eager to throw himself into the heist excitement and get ready to go, he wasn't feeling well today, tired and woozy. Standing made the problem worse, and he wondered if it was an odd manifestation of allergies, if Mabel was feeling the same. She looked and acted a lot livelier, so he doubted it.

"Nice," Wendy said. "Got worried about you since you look a little paler than normal."

Brushing off the concern, he tried to listen in on his surroundings. It seemed Stan had rounded up the crew and the required items for the most part, and that meant he would be prodded into getting his combat vest and other gear shortly if they were nearing departure. Ford was already encouraging Mabel to load the vehicles, being the only crew member paying full attention.

"Cutie," Bill spoke, and Dipper tilted his head upward to look at him. "Shouldn't you be ready by now? You and Shooting Star are always the first ones done."

"Yeah, I'll get ready in a second," he promised. "Do you have any idea where my combat vest is? Does Stan have it?" He was usually the designated retriever and distributor of the vests to the crew, but he didn't remember receiving his.

Bill gave him a look of confusion. "It's been in front of you for about five minutes, sugar. Stan set it there and told you to put it on."

Following Bill's line of sight, Dipper's eyes shifted and to his surprise, he was right. There was a combat vest sitting, waiting, on the coffee table. "I…" Yeah, he didn't really have an excuse for that one, so he settled on, "Okay." Rising from the sofa, there was a slight sway in his upright stance as he pulled it on over himself with some difficulty, the nausea returning. "Feels heavier than normal," he reported, rolling his shoulders to try to get comfortable. "Did they give me more gear?"

In the background, he could faintly hear Stan calling for Wendy to grab something, but trying to determine what was happening merely made his head feel foggy.

"Are you feeling okay?" Bill inquired. "The weight is the same as before."

Although he wasn't feeling perfectly fine, he didn't think the nausea would stick around, and this wouldn't be a terribly dangerous heist either. Backing out wasn't an option when they were lacking Soos as it was. "I'm okay," he reassured with a semi-smile, but despite what he said, he was seeking out a wall to lean against with the dizziness growing more unbearable. "Hey, are we leaving in a bit?"

Stan's voice barked at them. "I just said we're leavin' in a couple minutes! What are ya doin', yappin' too much? Why aren't ya ready, kid?"

Shuffling his weight, Dipper said, "Look, I—"

"Dipper, honestly," Ford sighed, and the tone made him want to shrink down in shame. "Your sister is in the car, waiting. Why haven't you even picked up your gear? I realize you may not need it for this particular job, but that isn't a reason to—" there was an abrupt stop, and his eyes narrowed as he adjusted his glasses. "Are you feeling alright?"

Sweeping his hair back, he tried to steady his breathing, tried to fight against the urge to… to, he didn't know what. Vomit? With how dizzy he'd become, it wouldn't be a shock. "Yeah," he said, but sounded distant, "give me a minute." Scanning the room, he realized Bill had grabbed his gear for him. Silently grateful for the help, Dipper walked toward him but realized the closer he got, the further away Bill seemed to be, and his headache was pounding now— nausea overwhelming.

And then, the world was in snapshots. Reaching for his gear, seeing his distressed reflection in Bill's golden-blue eyes, his hand dropping, stomach churning and his mind worlds away, his entire body falling forward, eyes rolling back.

He didn't feel the impact.

He also didn't hear the sudden outburst of panicked shouts of his name.

. . .

It was strange how it seemed like hours had gone by while simultaneously feeling like no time had passed at all, and Dipper opened his eyes to the blurry sight of Bill hovering over him protectively, his body having been presumably set against the carpeted floor. "Pine Tree," he could hear the quiet murmur. "What the fuck?"

"Everyone," there was the commanding voice of Ford, "stay back." The source of the noise entered his line of sight, but he was still too dazed to do anything but watch as Ford cleared his throat. "Bill, step aside."

"Don't tell me what to do, Fordsy." Bill hadn't relented, refusing to move an inch, and Ford irritably glanced at Bill before leaning down on his other side.

Dipper blinked at them, weakly trying to scramble from their prying gazes, uncomfortable with the unnecessary examination. "Uh… guys?" he questioned with a tilt of his head, wincing at the much more pronounced pain. At least the nausea had mostly trickled away, like his body had reset itself.

Bill let out a low noise at Ford, then his attention was on Dipper again. "You fainted, sugar. I had to catch you and set you down. So much for 'being okay.'"

Frowning, he was surprised to hear he'd fainted, but that explained the weird lapse of time and crash of lightheadedness. "I… I don't feel that bad?" Not anymore, that was.

"You don't seem well," Ford muttered in observation, straightening out his back and offering him a hand up, which Dipper tentatively accepted and took a wobbly step forward. "Before we leave for the heist, I'd like to look at something. Stanley, can you come here?"

Stan moved over to join Ford's side. "What're we lookin' at?"

"Dipper had a fainting episode," Ford explained with a grimace, stony eyes never leaving him. It was unnerving. "Have you eaten today?" In response, there was a hesitant shake of his head, gulping as Ford's disapproving gaze intensified. To Stan, Ford instructed, "Alright, help him to the scale. I don't want him hurting himself if he faints again."

Stan grumbled as he reached to lift Dipper up, and he squirmed and squeaked, caught off guard since he was all but thrown over Stan's broad shoulder. He was carried away, into the bathroom where Stan set him beside the scale. "Take off your combat vest, kid." Knowing where this was headed, Dipper shuffled from the vest and draped it on the bathroom counter.

"Thank you for… escorting him, Stanley," Ford mumbled, appearing beside Stan in the entryway. Beyond, a curious Wendy was fixated on them, and Bill who was trying to squeeze past the brothers to gain entry. Stan didn't seem impressed, blocking his way. Ford's motion toward the floor caught his attention, and Dipper's eyes trained to the scale. "What are you waiting for? On with it."

There were mutters behind him, some of Stan and Ford discussing the weight of his clothing, others Bill's complaints about being cut off from him. When the reading appeared, Ford made a displeased  _hmmrph_  noise and said, "I see. You can step off, Dipper, but you're not joining us on this heist, or future heists until you're a healthy weight."

Eyebrows pinching together, he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered why they thought he was underweight. He didn't look any different, felt mostly the same. More tired, a little hungrier, colder, and yet he still saw the pockets of annoying pudge that Bill had mentioned a while ago.

A very Bill-esque 'ow!' pulled Dipper into the rest of the world, and a glance gave him the view of Bill rubbing the back of his head as he glared at Stan. "Fuck you too, Stan."

Stan ignored him, looking to Ford. "How long do ya think that'd take if we started feeding him right now?"

"Look, I can still do the heist. I feel a lot better, and I'm not—"

Much to his frustration, Ford talked over him, "Shouldn't be long. Do we have any remaining protein bars that aren't as old as Dipper? We haven't needed them in quite some time."

"In this state, I'm sure the kid wouldn't be picky if they're twenty years old."

"That's not the issue when they're probably  _expired_ ," Ford stressed, sighing in aggravation and turning toward Stan and Bill, ushering them out of the way. "We don't have time for this. I'll ask Fiddleford for some, and we can pick them up later once we're done with this job, but right now we need to leave."

Bill glanced at Ford. "Are we leaving him alone? The kid just fainted, and it looks like he hasn't eaten in days. We should at least force-feed him and restrain him to a bed."

"Dude, I'm seriously standing right here," Dipper reminded him with a huff. "I can hear that." To Stan and Ford, he repeated, "I feel better and I could do the heist, but if I can't go with, I'll just take it easy, okay? Nobody has to stay and babysit me." That was ridiculous, and he didn't want to make this worse on the crew that was already down a regular member, and now him.

Although he'd hesitated, Ford nodded and resumed preparing to leave, about to address the others but was stopped by Bill speaking first.

"Are you going to eat while we're gone?" Bill challenged him, blocking his path to the sofa. "Or are you going to keep fainting because you're not taking care of yourself?" Pausing with uncertainty of how to answer that, Dipper shrugged a little. Sooner or later, he would have to eat, but he didn't think he was hungry for more than a snack, afraid the nausea would return and make consuming food an effort in vain.

"Enough, Cipher," he barked, the harshness of his tone causing Dipper to jump. "We're late as it is. Collect your things and meet us at the vehicle. Dipper, eat."

Bill looked like he wanted to argue further, glaring at Ford. "Fucker." Dipper trailed after a bit aimlessly, noting Ford and Wendy were already out the door and likely on their way to the vehicle, leaving only Stan and Bill remaining. If Stan hadn't been present, this probably would've been the time he'd give Bill a kiss and say something dumb about coming back unharmed, but it would be strange to do with Stan witnessing the interaction.

Stan was staring at him, shaking his head. "Kid, I can't let ya join our crew if you're starving yourself to death. Get yourself together, and if someone," he looked at Bill as he spoke, eyes narrowed, "called ya a  _fatty_ , ya better ignore him. He doesn't know what he's talkin' about." It wasn't what Bill had implied, but the shame of possibly being too heavy for someone who evidently liked thinness when he used the concept of weight derogatorily toward others, and the comments about his pudgy spots definitely had him feeling less than okay with himself. He hadn't noticed them before Bill pointed it out, made him truly look at his body in a mirror through the lens of evaluating its structure.

Dipper resisted the urge to look down at himself today, not wanting to face the reminder that he still had those imperfections. Instead, he stared at Stan, tongue tied since he didn't know how to reply. It wasn't Bill's fault that he felt bad about his weight, even if he had been the one to bring it to attention.

Huffing and displeased, Bill wasn't fazed. "Pine Rose, go get something to eat." Dipper raised an eyebrow, finding that odd coming from Bill, who was always so obsessed with his self-image and the image of others that it was intriguing to see him care about this when he'd introduced the flaw in the first place. "I'll see you later, okay?"

And then, he was alone.

* * *

The penthouse was always too quiet when he was the only one in it. It felt empty and eerie, unsettling. The cold, unwelcome atmosphere was under his skin, and he couldn't focus very well when it felt like the pristine walls were more like bars on a cage. Pacing didn't help, it restarted the woozy feeling, and he'd had to sit down.

Luckily, he didn't think Stan and Ford would have any issue if he left for a while. With the two months behind them, they were right, it was doubtful that anybody would recognize him and connect it to the murder of his parents. Being absent when the brothers returned was merely a bonus, as he was aware that a less-than-fun discussion awaited him after the job concluded.

That was how he ended up in the park only a mile or two from the penthouse, a short and safe walk, and he was sitting on the grass as he overlooked the gradually setting sun. The weather was beautiful, turning into the perfect evening to be outside and drawing his surroundings, or whatever pleased him in that moment.

It was relaxing. After the incident this morning, he figured he deserved a bit to unwind, and he found that solstice in the park with a pencil and a couple spare sketchbook pages. He'd wanted to travel lightly, just the basics today: phone, pencil, paper.

"Pine Tree!" Bill's voice broke the sound of nature around him, and Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw it was actually Bill approaching, not an auditory hallucination. When he'd left, he hadn't expected anyone to track him down— he had his phone on the entire time for that reason, he wasn't sure why Bill hadn't texted or called. "Are you okay? You weren't at the penthouse, and after earlier I didn't want you to be alone. Have you fainted since? How are you feeling?"

The barrage of polling was overwhelming, and he set his papers aside onto the grass to try to remember all Bill had asked him. "Yes, I'm okay, and no, I haven't fainted." Did that cover it? Puzzled, his eyebrows knitted as he questioned, "What are you doing out here? If you were worried, you could've texted me or something, and I would've gone to the penthouse. I didn't know how long you guys would be busy with the heist, so I went for a walk and thought this was a decent place to stop." Gorgeous landscape, the occasional person, a sunset in progress. Much better than the dreariness of the silent penthouse.

Bill shrugged, moving to take a seat beside him with his arm around his shoulders, and Dipper leaned into him with a deflating sigh. "What if you were unconscious or incapable of responding? I figured just finding your location would be a better bet of ensuring your safety."

"Sure, okay." It was outlandish, but he couldn't blame Bill for being a little paranoid after the events of the morning, so he wasn't going to challenge it. "Are Stan and Ford upset about this? About… me?" They hadn't sounded pleased earlier. "Honestly, I feel bad for not being able to help out with the job. ...Does Mabel know?"

"Nah," Bill said, planting a kiss to his cheek. "no reason to involve her when they'll get you on track." It was nice of Stan and Ford to maintain his privacy, but Dipper intended on spilling the details of the situation to her anyway. "Stan and Ford are just worried, cutie. You're skin and bones, a gust of wind could take you away."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be going anywhere like this." Bill's arm was around his frame, holding him securely. With a sigh, he continued, "But I'm glad they're not mad. Are they really going to force me to eat?" There was a short laugh at the absurdity. "I… that's— they don't need to do that. Seriously."

He nuzzled him, kissing the side of his neck. Lightly whining at the sudden display of affection, Dipper felt a shudder pass through his body. "We all want to. I saw it during mandatory fun night, thought it might help to compliment you, but you just kept losing weight." After a questioning hum, Bill went on, "You look like hell, honey. Can I take you out to dinner?"

With a raised eyebrow, he said, "Usually, when you want to take someone on a date, you start with a pleasantry. 'You look nice' is a classic. 'You look like hell', on the other hand, may be straying a bit too far from the formula."

"Hey cutie, you look amazing when you're not a skeleton. Can I take you out to dinner?"

"Ha," Dipper said with the smallest of laughs. It was better than outright saying he looked bad, but he still felt hesitance over eating in front of somebody, even if that somebody happened to be his boyfriend. "Look, Bill. I'm flattered, but uh… I don't think so. I'll make you something at the penthouse?" It was a half-question, half-suggestion. "Your choice."

Undeterred, Bill frowned. "I'd rather treat you, cutie. Take you somewhere nice, get some food in your belly. You need it."

Grinning slightly, Dipper draped his legs over Bill, nudging closer and wondering if he'd allow them to be seen like this in public considering what'd happened last time. "I like how you're offering to treat me, like I have some way to pay that isn't connected to you or Stan," he commented dryly. It wasn't an attempt to distract Bill, but he supposed it might have the same effect.

He smirked. "Well, I'm going to take that as a 'yes Bill, treat me, you're so great.'" Bill nipped his neck, sucking on his skin with enough force to leave marks. Unsure if he was interested in the direction this was going or discontent with the fact they could be seen by anyone in the low light of the evening, Dipper was swaying toward the former and melted into Bill, a quiet sound of enjoyment spilling from him.

"Feels like I'm 'lready getting treated by you," he mumbled, eyes lidding. "And yes, you are so great. So  _amazing_ and wonderful." Well, sometimes, but flattery was also a generally reliable means of distracting Bill from the previous conversational topic. The morality of it… that was grayer, but he preferred this over being dragged out to eat when it wasn't appealing in the slightest.

"I'll show you how  _amazing_  I am after we eat," Bill responded.

"I'm not really hungry." A twinge of defensiveness entered his voice, a knee jerk reaction though he hadn't evaluated whether he could eat or not. He'd had something while the crew was away, it felt like plenty. "Are you sure you don't want me to make you food at the penthouse?"

The kissing ceased, Bill's eyes narrowing at him, and they seemed to pull back from each other like ends of magnets on cue. "Yeah, you're never hungry, are you? This is why everyone's worried about you, why Stan won't let you join the crew."

At first, he was too stunned to respond, bristling slightly at what came across as an accusation. It was after some deliberation that he replied, "Relax, Bill." He didn't need this lecture, it wasn't worth their time. "I've already eaten, that's why I'm not hungry."

"What did you eat?" Bill demanded, but he didn't give Dipper a chance to reply. "The air? Some water, which isn't even  _eating_? Cutie, if you don't regain your weight, it'll fuck you up. Don't you get that? You could die."

"You could've died today! Or… or any other day you go on a heist!" Dipper pointed out, now definitely a bit on edge. And he was eating more than  _air_ or  _water_ , though he obstinately avoided answering to Bill's authoritarian tone, too stubborn to give in when his boyfriend somehow couldn't take his word for it.

Bill scoffed. "Yeah, but at least I'm doing my job. You can't even do that now."

"You're suddenly acting like taking care of me is  _your job_ ," he snapped, "and you're not exactly doing that right either." Dipper didn't care for how Bill was chasing after him lately— well, ever since this morning, trying to hover over his shoulder and demand he eat when he wasn't hungry.

"It shouldn't be my job to fucking force feed you,  _Mason_. You're nineteen, I shouldn't have to treat you like you're a fucking baby that needs to be fed from a bottle." Tensing with anger, Dipper's shoulders drew together as he unwound their bodies and shuffled further away from him.

"I don't  _want_ you to!" he protested. "Seriously, it sounds like we both hate that, so stop. I already told you I've eaten today, what do you want from me?" He'd done as Stan, Ford, and Bill had asked: eaten, slept, went for a walk, and had been drawing. That was taking it easy.

Bill growled. "I  _want_  you to fucking gain some weight and get back on track to being healthy so I don't wake up in a month and find you dead beside me because you're insecure about what a scale says." It was a hard blow, not only the fact that it was true, but particularly because it was a mixed signal. First, Bill wanted him thinner- or at least implied he would look better or be more appealing if he was, and now he was backtracking and saying that was the wrong way to approach the problem.

"What?" Dipper huffed, eyes flashing with irritation. Bill was right, maybe he was insecure, but he had good reason to be. "What the actual hell, Bill. How can you possibly say that when  _you're_ the one who told me to be insecure in the first place!" It never would've crossed his mind if not for those passive-aggressive comments about his weight.

"I didn't fucking mean it," he snapped. "Okay, so maybe I have some issues with body fat percentage because I think it makes people fucking gross, but you– you were  _healthy_ , you just had some soft spots I noticed but it wasn't actually a big deal. I know I shouldn't have said anything but when you're raised to call people out on that shit because it's the only way to bond with your nitpicking father, it's kinda fucking hard to break that habit."

It was like a dam had burst, and Dipper was stunned by the profuse clarity and honesty of his explanation. A lot of things fell into place about Bill's habits of seeing others through the categorization of 'fat' and 'not fat', the former often coinciding with degrading and uncalled for remarks about appearance. It was… eye-opening, and he was surprised he'd never learned about it until now.

Feeling choked, Dipper pulled his knees to his chest to rest his chin on them, lost in thought over it, wondering what that meant for him. And for Bill, really. It wasn't so mysterious, why he brought others down for the slightest imperfections in proportions and similarly, why he was always trying to stay in peak condition. The pieces of his behavior were coming together, as sad as the big picture was.

"Oh," he swallowed, "okay. I'm… I guess that makes sense." It didn't excuse anything, and he was careful to avoid giving Bill the impression that it did. In retrospect, he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at himself because it was so ridiculous, the idea of wanting to be better physically for Bill after an offhand comment— the worst part of it was, his explanation didn't relieve the feelings of inadequacy despite giving them meaning.

Bill glanced away from him, sighing. "I'm sorry."

Letting his shoulders drop, he wasn't sure if there was anything to apologize for aside from the passive-aggressive comments themselves, but he didn't face the majority of those sharp statements. The most common targets were probably Soos, Stan, or Wendy- the people Bill definitely owed apologies to, but that… was Bill's issue, one he'd need to correct on his own accord.

"I know you are," he responded after realizing he hadn't said anything, though that probably wasn't the most reassuring answer. Clearing his throat, he asked, "So, uh… you realize your dad is dead, right? The guy you killed in a house fire? Yeah, that one." No point in bonding with him now.

Bill shot him a smoldering look. "Habits hardly change in a day, Pine Tree. I'm fucking trying."

Before he could stop himself, he reminded Bill, "You literally stopped smoking in a day. What do you call that?" Well, he… hadn't meant to be so forward about it, but there was no going back. Dipper personally called it a lack of consideration, Bill placing importance on what he wanted to change and forgetting about the rest, but he patiently waited for the inevitable rebuttal.

"Do you know… how fucking  _hard_  it is to do that?" Dipper flinched at the force of the rumble. "How I still want to fucking smoke an entire carton every fucking day? How I don't care if it kills me? I stopped  _for you_. I've changed a lot of shit  _for you_  and it's fucking  _exhausting_  to try to not relapse." He took a breath, a frustrated noise escaping him. "I'm trying so fucking hard to be a better person for you, and sometimes I want to fucking shoot myself because it feels like it's not going anywhere."

Maybe Bill had intended for it to be comforting, but it only made him fret, disappointment seeping in like a cold tide that washed the sand from under his feet and knocked him off balance. It burned guilt into Dipper, and he hated how Bill was doing these things  _for him_ , the precise situation he'd asked him to avoid because it wouldn't result in permanent change. "Self-improvement takes time," he echoed an earlier statement, twirling a blade of plucked grass in his fingers. Quieter yet, he said, "I… kind of hoped you weren't doing those things for me. Remember how we talked about doing them because  _you_ want it for yourself would be better?"

Gratitude aside, it wasn't a long term solution. It was hardly a temporary solution. Plus, it put a lot of pressure on him to enjoy the efforts regardless of their success, essentially what Bill was doing now by listing the aspects of himself that he was trying to change.

Bill's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know how to tell if I'm doing it for me. In any case, it doesn't matter when all I've done is fuck everything up. I don't know why you've stayed around."

"You didn't," he said, flopping against the grass to stare at the overhanging sky. It was surprising how long they'd been out here, the horizon shifting to a deeper blue color as night fell over the city, and although it wasn't dark yet, it would be soon. As for why he'd stayed around, Dipper shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I really like you or something. Weird, right?"

"Yeah," Bill muttered. "An asshole like me doesn't deserve your time of day."

Not very serious, he flippantly added, "Make yourself worth my while, then. Besides, what else am I going to do with my time?" Eat? He was tempted to say that, but the joke probably wouldn't set well with Bill after their discussion.

Bill was quiet for a moment, glancing at the sky. "Do you remember that first night we talked on the balcony?"

"Yeah." Although he could hear Bill start to speak, he stopped him, "Bill, wait. If you're going to talk about how I haven't changed, please…  _please_ don't. I'd rather not hear that right now." Tonight was painful as it was, they didn't need to bring up old wounds that resurfaced equally bad memories.

"I.. I wanted to ask if I hadn't been there, if I didn't exist– would you have jumped?"

"I don't know." Closing his eyes, he tried to picture that night, tried to remember what he was thinking about. Something like… wanting his racing thoughts to stop, feeling overwhelmed with the change of scenery, completely out of his element and lost in life since he had no future, no direction, no stability with the exception of Mabel. His eyes fluttered open again when he felt the coppery tang of blood, and he realized he'd been biting his lip, breaking the skin, part of his recent chewing habit. Trying to give a better answer, Dipper hesitantly said, "Probably, if I didn't think about it too hard. Why?"

Bill's voice was a mutter. "It's stupid. I guess I wanted to know if I mattered at all."

"Yeah, you matter. To basically everybody, y'know? Wendy, Soos, Stan, Ford, Mabel… Me, I guess. But yeah, you matter a lot to me, and it'd be… pretty strange to live our lives separately at this point." It felt like they'd spent so much time together despite the short period they'd known one another. Coughing, he closed his eyes again and continued softly, "It's like, everything is right with you. It all falls into place and I can't imagine being with somebody else like this, even if it really sucks sometimes." As they experienced growing pains together and apart, and stumbled their way through making themselves better.

"Yeah, I don't think the others count, sugar." His laugh was quiet. "But I never really cared about most of them anyway. You're the only one that matters. I like you a lot."

The last bit urged Dipper to peek an eye open and look at Bill, fighting back a laugh, though he wasn't sure if it was from what he'd said or the surge of giddiness. "Oh jeez, thanks for the lukewarm sentiment." The censorship wasn't as subtle as Bill seemed to think it was.

Bill looked at him. "What do you want from me, Pine Rose?"

"I don't know." And Bill should know that he was as indecisive as they came, dwelling on thoughts, obsessing over them for unhealthy amounts of time. "I guess you could tell me something real." Anything, he wasn't picky, but just wanted Bill to be himself.

"Does your lack of eating count?"

If it was going to get Bill to share something personal, he wasn't going to fuss over the subject. "Whatever you want to talk about."

"I'm worried. With your disregard for your own health, I keep seeing your… cold, lifeless body in my bed, because you've starved yourself to death and it's all my fucking fault." A strangled noise escaped him, and Dipper reached for his hand, blindly groping in the dried grass until his fingers reassuringly curled around Bill's fist. "I care about you so much it  _hurts_ , it eats me up inside like acid when something goes wrong. I can't stand to see you distressed." He wasn't looking at him, his gaze downcast. "Can I tell you something, Pine Rose?"

An honest utterance of affection— more than that, was resting on the tip of his tongue, and Dipper figured Bill had the same thought. It was making his pulse race, the possibility of hearing those words from him, so he said, "Sure. Of course." The invitation was sweet as he kept his eyes trained to Bill's, trapped in the depths of his entrancing gaze.

Bill shifted slightly beneath his rapt attention. "I've been wanting to tell you this for a while, but I didn't know how." Diminishing Dipper's eagerness to confusion, he more quietly added: "You're going to hate me, and I don't blame you. Do you remember the night we went to that social event and met Preston Northwest? You didn't drink alcohol at all. I drugged you with ketamine. You were an anxious wreck before so I poured some in your coffee."

At first, it didn't register. Until, well, it did, and nothing was alright or could be ever again.

Everything was horrible.

The rest of the world fell away, anything except him and Bill didn't exist in that moment. Dumbfounded, Dipper continued to stare, jaw going slack in shock as he processed it, the sheer gravity of Bill's actions. His mind raced: the strange out of body experience, the fuzzy memories, the mismatched cohesion between each chain of events. Retracting his hand, he bolted to his feet in record time, hardly able to keep his breathing steady. He couldn't believe it. He'd trusted Bill.

Now, it felt like that trust was falling apart worse than ever. No more lies, Bill had promised- and he'd done what, drugged him then was dishonest about it to make him feel like he should be the one ashamed? Dipper knew he wasn't one to drink, he should have relied on his own instinct instead of the fabricated truth Bill had fed him.

Dipper didn't know what to say, where to begin, but he could hardly stand to look at Bill without the familiar rush of anxiety taking over. A single confession had changed everything, and he…

He'd kept it from him for so long while fully aware this relationship was built on the open communication Dipper had thought they shared, but it seemed that was simply another one of Bill's games.

The words stolen from him, he wasn't sure how long he'd done nothing but owlishly keep his eyes glued on Bill. Heart thumping wildly, it was accompanied by a sort of internal shaking within his body, but he willed himself not to pass out, not now of all times. And he was too upset to even consider how he felt about Bill anymore, distraught over how he'd drugged him and proceeded to lie about it for a month.

"I'm sorry," Bill began, almost rambling. "If I hadn't felt it necessary I wouldn't have, but your nerves were fucking with you and I thought it'd help you relax–"

" _Don't_." Dipper's command was dark, shutting down all attempts at a protest from Bill. He didn't want to hear the excuses or why he'd thought that was a tolerable course of action without at least consulting him— or coming clean about it sooner, the gaslighting was over the line into beyond unacceptable. He'd never thought Bill would hurt him like that, and it tore him up to realize he'd been wrong about him for so long.

When it seemed Bill wasn't going to speak again and was instead waiting for him, Dipper said icily, "I don't  _care_ if you're sorry." The words heaved out of him, choked, but he was trying to steer clear of the inevitable breakdown. It was coming, he just hoped it wouldn't be in front of Bill. "That was fucked up."

Bill swallowed. "I know it was. I–" he seemed to be struggling, like he wanted to keep apologizing. "You have every reason to be angry. I shouldn't have done that."

"You don't get it, do you?" Dipper asked, but it was more like a broken statement. "It does  _not matter_." The specifics were irrelevant, the motive, the regret. None of it made a difference. Trying to refrain from trembling, he said, "I- I don't think... I can forgive you." Maybe they'd move on from this, he didn't know yet, but it would never, ever be completely alright. If it continued, their relationship would never be that uncorrupted, unfractured version of what it once was. When it seemed Bill was about to protest, Dipper shakily lamented, "Nothing you say can change that."

"Come on, you don't mean it, sweetheart." There was a quietness to his words, a hesitance mixed with a desperation. "You're just angry, and that's okay, I get it."

Shaking his head, Dipper didn't know what to say; the emotions of anger and hurt would fade eventually, but no amount of explanation or justification would make this okay. Nothing Bill did could take this back, it was done, and he would have to live with knowing this would remain a permanent blemish on their trust and relationship. "No, Bill." It sounded so… defeated, almost hopeless, a perfect reflection of how he felt after learning about this.

It changed everything, and he had no idea how they were going to begin to resume things. If they did.

Bill's voice was beginning to crack. " _Please_  Pine Tree, don't do this."

"I…" he wavered, taking a faltering step backwards since Bill's sheer despair took him by surprise. "I can't be around you right now." It was making him queasy to see him like this, completely aware of what he'd done.

Dipper didn't wait for his reaction and spun on his heels, electing to venture further into the park at a brisk pace, heading for the other side. It wasn't the way back to the penthouse, but he didn't think he could go there as it was, not like this. Another minute with Bill was another minute too much.

Behind him, there was a yell of, "Wait—! Pine Tree!"

That only encouraged him to walk faster into the night.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): blood. 
> 
> Some backstory ahead. Although not absolutely imperative, I suggest at least reading [this](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/178294363657/ill-give-them-shelter-like-youve-done-for-me) prior to the chapter (+ maybe [this](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/178961378982/your-consenting-mind) as well if you want to read author headcanons, or just want some BillDip fluff before the storm.) Both are relevant to the chapter but aren't required to understand it.

Almost jogging now, he was halfway through the park. There was no destination in mind, no mental map or internal plan, he only wanted to be away from Bill to have time to consider everything. Wrapped up in an insurmountable flurry of negative emotions clawing and tearing through him, Dipper craved tranquility and knew Bill's presence would only restart the cycle of hurt and frustration, the extreme loss of trust that'd crippled them.

To his discontent, Dipper knew Bill was following at a distance, trying to catch up and shouting, begging. And he started breaking into a full sprint when he realized he was coming closer than he'd initially thought, yelling out to him in desperation, but he refused to hear it.

"Leave me alone!" he called over his shoulder, quickening his pace as he ran in the opposite direction of Bill and the penthouse, heading deeper into the city.

It wasn't concerning. Well, the fact it was night had him slightly more on edge, but it wouldn't stop him when he was determined to soak in the peace away from everything and everybody else; he could take care of himself, then find his way back.

Once he'd reached the end of the park, he wasted no time in dipping into backstreets and taking unconventional routes through the concrete jungle, trying to broaden the distance between him and Bill. Dipper couldn't deal with him right now, not after what he'd done to wreck their relationship.

Unable to even think about repairing it, he was eager to recollect his thoughts in private and give himself time to truly process the atrocity, the chain of events that made him feel wholly sick. It still elicited disbelief because he couldn't imagine the Bill who cared so much about him doing something downright careless and evil, drugging him without his knowledge and lying about the incident to cover his own tracks. It made his head spin, choked and strangled him with sorrow, wishing he'd never agreed to the social event in the first place.

Although the stretch of space between them rendered it physically impossible, Bill's voice still echoed around him as he sped through the city borough, dodging trash and other forgotten items. He wasn't sure if he was actually hearing it, or if it was merely an auditory hallucination, but the latter hardly would surprise him. Dipper was struggling, fighting his muscles to maintain his formerly-fast pace and panting heavily, exhausted from the exertion on a weakened body.

Thankfully, a glance behind him indicated Bill was no longer following him as closely, and a few seconds of waiting suggested he'd stopped trailing after entirely. Good, he was in need of a break and didn't think he could've kept that pace, so he found a quiet spot under a flickering, buzzing lamp post, ignoring the couple people that were lingering around the darkened street.

Sliding down the metal of the post, he took a seat on the pavement of the curb and caught his breath, frame heaving as he replenished himself with oxygen. Knees on his chest, he clung tightly, trying to make his form as small and insignificant as could be. This wasn't a dangerous neighborhood, mostly riddled with litter and home to large factory businesses, but he didn't want anybody to attempt to approach.

Tears didn't come to him, he didn't know what to cry over. It stung deeply, the confession but also the additional profound realization that he couldn't be shocked by this, wasn't shocked in the least. Bill had betrayed him, and as much as he'd been optimistic about the trust between them, it'd never really been there. It was always shaky, flimsy, never quite extended, and this was exactly the reason why. What Bill did hurt horribly, reduced him to a queasy and shaking mess, but there was nothing that could be done about it except pick up the remains of their relationship… and that would take time, seemingly undoable when the wound was so fresh. He didn't know if he had it in him.

What they'd created together had been a challenge, to say the least. Two broken people or maybe two people on the verge of breaking merging as one to form this beautiful, kaleidoscope-esque relationship that never stopped shifting. There'd been a hefty share of rough times, but Dipper could overlook most of the petty arguments because when they were operating as a team, it'd felt like everything was perfect and right in his life.

During the time that he sat there, many thoughts crossed his mind, none too pleasant. It was amazing how everything, everybody else moved on in spite of how broken he felt. How he could experience this horrible, awful feeling and yet it made no difference to the larger scheme of things, it was a thought that'd occurred to him after his parents' deaths as well. The difficulty of coping with something when time's arrow marched on whether he felt ready or not.

The moon had shifted overhead, leading him to believe at least an hour had passed, but its light was buried in the clouds. He was wrapped up in his own cognitions for who knew how long before there was movement out of the corner of his eye, gravelly footsteps approaching on the pavement. His first guess was Bill, but from what he could see, the colors were wrong. This wasn't his bumblebee— the thought elicited a sharp, reminding bite deep within. He winced.

Turning his head, he could see a broad figure in a brown leather jacket, a gray shirt and jeans, and—

Dipper's eyes went wide. The man was wearing a familiar golden owl mask, the same one he'd seen on the murder board. When it clicked, his heart rate shot up as his body did the same, trying to take a step backwards only to run into the lamp post with a  _clunk_. He was such a stupid idiot, a stupid idiot that was about to die because this was  _Owl Mask_ and Owl Mask was a part of the Ravagers, the same gang that'd killed his parents, oh god. His body tensed, panic pulsed through him. The ability to think or move or partake in any other function had disappeared. This was the end, and he couldn't do anything except stand there like a deer in the headlights, frozen with fear.

Oh god. Oh god. What had he gotten himself into? As if he needed reasons to be more petrified, it was then that he realized there was an assault rifle resting in his gloved grip, hanging loosely at his side. An extra jolt of fear had his palms sweating, breathing erratic.

Well, this was it for sure. There was no outrunning a firearm, and unless it jammed, he figured he was basically dead where he stood.

Everything reaching him at once, a mangled sound escaped him: " _Holyshit_!" It was a near-squeak that dripped terror into every syllable, and Dipper made a feeble attempt to shield himself by putting the lamp post between them, as if that would save him from a barrage of bullets. "Hey, man. I… I, um—  _Idon'twannadiesopleasedon'tshootme_!" It was hardly intelligible, and Dipper took this opportunity to bolt through the nearby alley, sprinting as quickly as his legs could carry him.

The edges of his vision started to twinge with blackness, but he forced himself onward. Energy gradually ebbed away and rendered Dipper a sack of strained gasps as he willed his body to continue against its wishes, pushing it to an extreme though it lacked the power to do so.

Dipper wheezed for breath. A limited diet of minimal proportions was taking its toll, making his head spin with dizziness, a new sway in his gait. Winding down, it was only a few seconds before it shut down on him entirely.

It was as if the pavement didn't exist under him anymore, the sensation of floating taking over. Dipper felt himself stumble forward, tripping on something, and collapsing when everything burst into glorious, neon bright technicolor, then a sudden and overwhelming blackness. The last thing he remembered was an unbearable pain, blunt needles slicing through his flesh.

. . .

The world was muted as it rebuilt itself before him. First, he was keenly aware of a numbness in his leg, the scent of blood rising in the air. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, throat aching with strain, but he internally begged his foggy mind into clarity.

But when he got the clear picture, he wished he hadn't. Dipper audibly gasped upon seeing it, his leg, though it was now more of a bloody pulp than a limb. Brushing his hand over the tattered flesh, there seemed to be a metal wire—maybe barbed wire, he deduced—stuck in his skin, and it wasn't as bad as he thought when he held his breath, gripping the cold intrusion and pulling. Part of the rusted line freed with some difficulty, but the gaping rip it left behind was gruesome in appearance. It was surprising that he didn't feel anything, perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked.

About to do the same to the next segment of wire to release it from his leg, he realized there was a pair of shoes that weren't his own standing in his line of sight. Stiffening with instant horror, his worst suspicions came to fruition as he raised his gaze to the figure standing there, hovering, watching him. Owl Mask.

"Please," he begged, trying to scramble away but suddenly feeling the full force of the pain as the metal dug into him, cutting deeper into the internal structures. Crying out, he squealed, "Oh—  _oh fuck_!" The pain was so much worse than he'd even thought possible. Maybe being shot wouldn't be such a bad thing. Owl Mask's gaze seemed to follow him in his struggles, his head cocking to one side as he moved to crouch beside his injured limb.

Filled with renewed adrenaline produced by panic, Dipper's efforts to squirm from Owl Mask were resumed, but the agony crept in faster. It was a pathetic attempt, only managing measly inches before he was wailing from the pain, the numbness fading and blood gushing more steadily, probably worsened by pulling some of the wire out. "D-don't," he protested weakly when it seemed he was undeterred, unsure of what exactly Owl Mask wanted to do to him, but wanting none of it.

Owl Mask turned away from him, shifting as he arranged the mask and withdrew a red bandana out from under it, much to Dipper's confusion. Adjusting the mask into place, he looked to Dipper, not giving him time to react before he was tying the cloth above his knee tightly, making a temporary tourniquet.

"Uh… thanks, I think?" It was a tremor-ridden statement, though he wasn't sure if it was from fright or because of the blood loss. "Are— ...you're not going to kill me?" It certainly didn't suggest he was on the brink of being shot if Owl Mask was helping him for some reason.

The response he received was a shrug, and Owl Mask started to stand up. "Wait! You're going to leave me?" It was slightly whinier than he'd intended, but  _goddammit_ , he was pretty sure the pain was going to kill him. When there was no reaction, he added an even more pitiful, "Dude! Can't you at least get someone to help? I mean," he breathed, "maybe not one of your gang friends because I feel like they might want to kill me since I'm an Owl, l-like you I guess but not really." Wow, he was a nervous wreck. "Um, can you get someone who can… I don't know." Stay with him while he suffered? Fetching someone medically trained to patch up his wounds seemed unlikely, and going to a hospital wasn't an option.

Owl Mask stared down at him and Dipper's eyes grew sadder, the rival gang member shaking his head as he rose to his feet, then made his way out of the alley.

* * *

The sounds of whimpers weren't needed to alert Bill to Dipper's location, a narrow back alley with very little light filtering in, and at first he was relieved to have found him again– after leaving his side as Owl Mask, he'd been worried he'd try to relocate while Bill swapped outfits and stashed his clothes at the nearby Ravagers safehouse. With Dipper's damaged leg, an attempted escape could do far more harm than good without external aid.

"Bill!" was the piercing cry from the darkness, though Bill couldn't determine if it was in fear or relief. "Bill," Dipper's call was more mournful this time, low like an animal in pain, " _help_."

He didn't know what to think of that, not after Dipper made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him.  _He would never forgive him_ , for something Bill regretted doing, for something that happened before he was even mentally stable, for trying to help him in a social situation. It felt hopeless in a way, trying to… love someone who hated him over something he couldn't control anymore. He regretted his past choices, he just wanted things to be back to how they were.

"Pine Tree," he breathed as he approached him, struggling to regain his breath. It took only a matter of minutes to change clothes, but it was surprisingly taxing on him. He didn't miss how he was sitting on the ground awkwardly, holding his leg out at an angle. "What happened? ...Where'd the bandana come from?" He already knew, but had to feign ignorance. Bill had already seen the barbed metal in his leg glistening with Dipper's blood, already knew about the bandana that slowed his bleeding. It was his bandana, something he wore under the mask in case it was disturbed.

"I…" he inhaled sharply, fearful eyes wide and frantic as they flicked from his injured leg to him again. Moving closer, Bill saw Dipper was visibly shivering, the distress written clearly into his features. "I tore some of them out at first because I didn't know how deep it was, but I'm— it's still bleeding." The way he spoke was shaky and tight, borderline panicked. Regret trickling into his voice, he moaned, "It _hurts_ , and the bandana, that's…" Hesitance seemed to wash over Dipper, but he delved into an explanation anyway, "Owl Mask was here. He walked up to me, and I freaked out and fell and he came over and tried to stop the bleeding but left."

He was well aware of that, how he had scared Dipper into running away as Owl Mask, how he was the reason he fell into the barbed wire. His injury was his fault, and Bill… felt uneasy, guilty. He never wanted to hurt him, he just wanted to have him come running back into his arms as Bill or retreating to the penthouse so they could know he was safe. That way, Dipper wouldn't have to swallow down his pride or wallow in anger in order to return. He could envision it, his cries of 'Bill! Bill, save me, there's a guy with a gun!' Being  _needed_ would alleviate anxiety over the state of their relationship, and now… that might be taken away from him. His wounds looked severe and Bill didn't know how long he'd last, if he'd last.

Catching his breath, Dipper tried to move his leg, tried to touch the barbed wire embedded in his skin, but he merely wailed. The wail morphed into a cough, the spatter of blood coating his hand and collar of his shirt. Well, shit. That didn't look good. How'd the kid fuck his insides up? He just… tripped, over some stupid junk.

Bill crouched down next to Dipper, examining the lacerations that decorated his flesh. "Oh, cutie," he murmured. "Sit tight, okay?" He reached into his pocket to pull out his knife, a tool he infrequently used but kept around in case he needed to cut himself loose from something. Dipper stiffened, appearing afraid, but it wasn't as if he could do much except lean on him, holding one of his arms as if it was the difference between life and death. Carefully, Bill took the wire between his fingers and cut away from Dipper, ensuring he wouldn't be attached to the bundle of discarded wiring when Bill moved him. "I'm guessing you can't walk, right cutie?"

"I feel like I— I can't  _move_ ," Dipper said with a squeak as he attempted rising to his feet, but remained pressed against him for support. "And it fucking stings— it hurts so much,  _Bill_."

The whine of his name was near heartbreaking since it carried a silent plea to  _do something_ , to save him from this world of pain and make him better, though it faded into a gasp as moonlight streamed through a cloudy night and hazy sky. It provided just enough light to see the extent of the wounds, the pool of blood that gathered over his leg and on the concrete. It was like his artery had been cut, leaving his lifeblood to pour out onto the cold ground.

It was… devastating, to think this was how it would end, Dipper hating him over something he'd done a month ago, something he only confessed because he wanted to be a better person– and how could he be, when he was losing the only thing he'd loved in a long time?

Staring at the bloody mess, a soft "oh" fell from Dipper as he seemed to make the same realization. There was a haunting look of shock and terror on his pale face, his throat working but no words coming out.

And it was all his fault, for being such a stars-awful person, for hurting Dipper to begin with. For drugging him, taking advantage of him, ruining his life in more than one way. He would've been a hell of a lot happier without him corrupting him, making everything harder. "I'm sorry." The words almost felt hollow leaving him, meaningless in a way. No amount of apologies or regrets would fix this. "I…" What more could he say now? It was his fault Dipper was going to die.

There was that word again: "Don't." And Dipper was pushing their mouths together like this was the last time they'd have the chance, Bill instantly met with the metallic tang of blood as he felt Dipper's lips moving against his own. And all too quickly, he was pulling away again to breathe in erratic gasps, shuddering violently against him.

Bill already was missing the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body against his– he didn't want the blood or the coldness of Dipper's skin, he wanted him how he used to be, when he wasn't making sounds to express the discomfort. When he wasn't bleeding out in a fucking alley. "Do you… do you want me to take you back to the penthouse?" Maybe, just maybe… if they were fast enough, they could get Dipper help for his leg. He wasn't sure what they could do about the internal bleeding… could they do anything? He'd be fucked if not.

Bill was devising an internal plan. Calling? No phones since Pine Tree's was ditched in the park, his wasn't on him. Fuck. Stealing a car… wouldn't work, he realized, not unless they wanted to have the police at their necks, and that'd be a life-threatening arrangement with Dipper in this condition. He'd have to carry him, take a shortcut across the park to the penthouse and hope it was fast enough.

It was hard to tell if Dipper heard him, the way he was staring into space. "Just wanna stay with you," he said with a sort of resigned tone, resting his head on his shoulder and slumping against him. "Please don't leave— don't…" Dipper sputtered, body shivering. "I don't think I'm going anywhere." Casting a weary glance to his leg, there was a muted, choked sob. "Hurts like hell and I can't be without you,  _pleasedon'tgo_."

He hadn't been planning on going anywhere without his Pine Tree, and with any luck his makeshift bandana tourniquet would buy them the time they needed to get him help.

Bill moved to scoop him up in his arms. His leg was still oozing a significant amount of blood it seemed, though it was slowing down, and Bill could feel it soak into his blazer while Dipper's arms weaved around him to cling weakly. "I'm not going to leave you, sweetheart. But we are going back to the penthouse." If he was going to die, Bill would make sure it wouldn't be in some alley.

"I'm so," his voice wavered, breaking, " _so_  scared, Bill. Every time it moves, even… even just a little, it feels like agony and the blood—" Dipper groaned quietly, tapering off. "Jesus Christ. I think I'm r-really hurt." It was a candid confession, may have been adorable if not for the circumstances, but it was still an understatement if there was internal damage; that was less fixable, and he'd fade fast.

Though he was careful where he stepped, his pace back through the alley was brisk, not wanting to waste time when Dipper's was limited. "Can you tell me what happened?" he murmured. "I know you got tangled in barbed wire, but I'm concerned about the blood that's coming from your mouth." His leg could probably be fixed if he didn't bleed out first. Bill wasn't so sure about his internal injuries, and he didn't want to lose his favorite person.

"...was trying to get away from you," Dipper recollected but paused to whine at the pain before resuming, "because I wanted to be alone. I... I still can't—" the abrupt stop made Bill look at him, only to see his eyes were rather glassy but not unfocused. "I don't want to fight," he admitted gently, "not right now. But uh, I stopped to catch my breath and think, then Owl Mask showed up. I ran away but fainted again, and the wire was on the ground."

"Is that all you remember?"

Dipper nosed his neck, feeling his trembling inhales and exhales against the skin. "Mm," he hummed, "yeah, I guess. It was numb at first, so I panicked and pulled out a few of the barbs. What else is there?"

He'd been hoping for something more concrete, details that'd reveal why he was wounded internally. Fuck. What the fuck did he do in the fifteen minutes he was alone? "Sounds like you went into shock, not a surprise."

Dipper spoke bluntly, but he sounded scared, "Hey uh, am I going to be okay?" The edge to his voice, the tiny tremor… although he seemed coherent now, it was obvious he was terrified. "Seriously, the pain is worse than—" a strained gasp, "anything I've ever experienced."

Bill wished he could say yes, but he honestly didn't know. As tempting as it was to lie, all it'd do was make Dipper angry with him. When it seemed he'd taken too long to reply, Dipper let out a sad laugh, more like a bark of air, and murmured, "Yeah, I figured. Do you think we'll make it back? I hope Mabel is there." There was a pause as he spasmed, the involuntary movement traveling throughout his fragile body. "If not, I guess it's not the worst thing ever, I mean— I have you around, so that's… sort of nice. I've liked being in a relationship with you, y'know? You're a douchebag but yeah… I… being together has been an adventure."

"I don't know how it could be nice," he couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice. "I'm the reason you're dying to begin with." He ruined everything he touched. His dogs, any old hope of a relationship with Wendy, Dipper. Dipper would've been fine if Bill hadn't gotten that stupid idea, cursing himself for how selfish it'd been, loathing himself. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Oh, uh… it'll probably be rough for a bit," Dipper replied, voice strangely mellow despite the hint of distress that lingered, "but then you'll be okay. Kind of how it goes, right?"

Bill didn't think he was going to be okay. Not without Dipper, not ever again. After seeing how life had actually been worth being a part of with Dipper by his side, he'd rather kill himself than live without him. Maybe he should. "Not with me."

"Yeah, with you," Dipper said, and if Bill wasn't mistaken, perhaps there were traces of affection in his voice. "You lost your dogs, but you've made it through that." It was concerning that his voice had lost its strained edge and the cries and moans had ceased, like Dipper was fading. The thought had his heart racing, pace quickening.

"You're not my dogs." Dipper was… Dipper, and Bill loved him, and it hurt. It hurt like fucking  _hell_. "I can't do this."

"Stop if you need a break," he suggested, somehow missing the point. "I feel like the insides of my legs are being pulled out with every step, so I don't mind." Back arching, he coughed and wiped his mouth, making a face at the (significantly less but still) apparent blood.

Oh, Bill loved that dumb kid a lot. "Cutie, can I tell you something?" If he was going to die, he might as well tell him while he couldn't escape. When he didn't have time to hate Bill for it. "I'm still.. sorry. About killing you, 'cause you always deserved so much better than me."

"Didn't kill me," Dipper mumbled in an oh-so-familiar protest, a defiant huff escaping him. "I was just.. stupid, running through the dark and fainting, and… falling on the wire, biting my cheek to deal with the pain, pulling the barbs out when I should have left them."

Backing up a few details, Bill realized it. "You… just bit your cheek? That's why your mouth was bleeding?"

"Y-yeah, pretty bad too. It's really messed up and keeps bleeding."

He had to stop for a moment, looking down at Dipper with dark eyes. "That's  _it_? You should have told me that when I asked you why your fucking mouth was bleeding."

"Are you sure you actually asked about that? And… and it wasn't even worth mentioning, it hurts too but not nearly as much as the wire," Dipper said, blinking at him. "Have you seen the fucking mangled mess that was formerly my leg?"

"If you had mentioned it," Bill growled, "I wouldn't have been given the impression you had internal fucking damage and were going to die of  _that_. The barbed wire isn't going to kill you, kid. The bleeding's almost stopped." His tourniquet had done one hell of a job at stowing it, and the dried blood was preventing more from escaping the wound.

He could see the 'a-ha' moment when it occurred to Dipper. "Oh. ...So I'm— it'll be fine?" There was relief in his voice, a faint smile gracing his lips, but it twisted into a grimace as another bout of pain seemed to hit him, followed by a quiet groan while his body was reduced to a shaking pulp.

"Yes." A frustrated sigh escaped him, and if his hand was free he'd run it through his hair. "I can't believe you didn't tell me. I thought you were going to die, that I'd  _lose_  you…" he couldn't hide the crack in his voice.

"Well, I'm not." Under his breath, Bill was pretty sure he heard a murmur of something to the effect of, "but it sure feels like it." Dipper squirmed before thinking better of it and resting against him, his head on his chest and his eyes closing. "I'm sorry for not… telling you that, I thought— I thought I was going to bleed to death because my leg looks like I tried to break out of prison or something. ...I don't know if that was a good simile, I've never tried breaking out of prison." After thinking for a moment, he amended it again awkwardly, "I've never been in prison, but uh, I assume they have barbed wire fencing there?"

It didn't matter, this whole ordeal left him feeling exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to be in the penthouse curled into a ball. "I wouldn't know," he said. "Maybe you can ask Stan. I've never been to jail." Bill shook his head, pressing a kiss to Dipper's cheek, which caused his eyes to flutter open, appearing mildly startled by the ministration of affection.

"Should…" his voice shook slightly, "we really be doing that? I don't know if things can resume the way they were, not immediately, I mean." Looking away, Dipper confessed, "I still feel sick when I think about you that night and how you drugged me."

"So," Bill began quietly, "what do you want to do about that?" Was this… it? Did Dipper not want anything more to do with him, after everything? Bill wanted to be angry, but… he couldn't be, not when it was his fault.

"I don't know," he said. "I tried to get away from you to think about this, everything... and now it's kind of hard to think about anything with metal sticking out of my leg." Thoughts seemed to engulf him for several seconds, but then he simply rephrased, "So, yeah, I don't know. What do you want to do?"

Bill sighed, glancing away from him. "I guess… fuck off once you're being taken care of at the penthouse." What more could he do, when being around Dipper only hurt them both more?

"Some space might be good for us, I guess." As their eyes met, Bill saw traces of hurt in the kid's gaze, vulnerability shining through clear as day like he wanted to ask something but couldn't find the words to do it. There was an internal battle going on, announced by the tendency of wearing his heart on his sleeve. Finally, he sputtered a bit, "Is that okay? Or do you want to— y'know…"

"Isn't that what you wanted to begin with?" When he was running away from him, like he was some sort of… monster he wanted nothing to do with. "It's–" not fine, not remotely close, but how could he be fine after he hurt Dipper? None of that was worth mentioning. Dipper was more important.

Bill suddenly lit up at a thought. They'd been having a good conversation, it almost felt  _normal_ , and it gave him the hope they'd be okay. That they could work on their relationship sooner. "Hey, Pine Tree?" All he yearned for was the promise they'd begin to put things on the right track between them, the uncertainty was driving him crazy.

"Yeah?" he responded, tired eyes staring at him. It was the first time he'd noticed the black circles of strain surrounding them, they made the kid look thoroughly exhausted, and… he probably was after a night like tonight. "What is it, Bill?"

"We've been having a good time talking," he began. "Does that mean.. you know, we can build things back up?" Dipper flinched, somehow recoiling from the mere idea of reconciliation, and his expression quickly shifted into appearing troubled.

"I… I don't know, please don't make this harder," he whispered. "Honestly? I'm having a hard time keeping it together right now because I feel like I'm going to have an anxiety attack, and the pain is just so damn bad that I can barely think straight." What did that mean? Did Dipper plan on letting them rebuild, or… was this it?

"Cu– Pine Tree," he corrected himself, determining Dipper probably didn't want the term of endearment. "You let me free you from the wire, didn't that mean anything?"

Dipper buried his head into his chest, and at first, that seemed like a pretty good sign. Until the low groan of pain filled the air, his body seizing up. "Okay, you have to understand," his words were muffled by his clothing, "I thought I was going to die. Owl Mask is lurking around here somewhere too. I'm not… saying it didn't mean anything, or that I didn't appreciate it, but I'm saying that being there to help me and having a conversation doesn't automatically win back your place in my life. That's how it goes in the media, but this isn't a movie or a cheap romance novel. Look," he gave a long exhale, gazing at him again, "maybe we can rebuild it, maybe not. I don't know right now because  _right now_ , my priorities are getting this wire out of my leg and healing, and  _then_ I can think about… that. What you did."

Oh. So that was why Dipper was being pleasant to him, he was merely operating on the default mode until this could be addressed. There went any hope in rekindling their relationship soon. Dipper would be carted off to recover, and Bill would be left alone… probably forever, when Dipper ultimately decided he might be able to find someone better.

The alleys turned to streets, and that faded into the residential area of the penthouse. Bill carried Dipper inside, up the stairs and he stopped outside the door. Nothing about this situation made him happy, and he wanted to leave, to get away from it all. Maybe find comfort in the bottom of a bottle. Or five.

Taking an uneasy breath, he moved to open the door, stepping inside.

* * *

The walk with Bill had introduced him to a horrifying amount of pain, but it did nothing to prepare him for what was to come. Getting the barbs out of his skin and the meat of his leg had been the worst experience of his life- just so much as a nudge, and he was brought to tears and shrieking because of the incredible wave of brutality inflicted onto him. It was too intense, and he'd felt like he was going to pass out.

The suggestion of painkillers had cropped up from the frantic discussion between Ford and Stan as they tried to remove the remaining metal, with Ford expressing concerns about the dosage, how he didn't want to risk negative side effects at a time so dire when he'd never been exposed to them before. It was Bill who came to his rescue, able to offer knowledge about the ideal amount of ketamine to ease his pain and induce a dream-like state without risking any harm. The fact he'd based it off of that specific experience made him feel nauseous, but he didn't dare admit he was the tiniest bit grateful for it in hindsight, otherwise pain management wouldn't have been nearly as effective.

And now, he was going through the long and tedious recovery process. He'd taken up most of his living in Bill's bedroom since it had a connected bathroom, was out of the excitement of the main living space, and… well, Bill had essentially given it to him while he sentenced himself to the sectional sofa.

Drawing passed the time, but the days weren't as lonely as he'd thought they would be. Stan and Ford would check on him throughout, less since his wounds were healing nicely, but they still stopped in on occasion.

Mabel was the one who stuck around, much to his own relief. They enjoyed talking with one another, watching Netflix, and she stayed to sleep sometimes. It was touching that she remained by his side as he recovered, helped him through the majority of it. Mabel made it clear she was on standby to retrieve anything and everything he could ever want. Really, he appreciated her dedicated companionship and was glad she didn't get tired of him.

Bill… he didn't see very often because he didn't venture out of Bill's room. He knew he was probably in the living room area, and that was confirmed on one of the first days when Mabel had walked into the bedroom, looked starry-eyed at everything, then squealed over the Lin-Manuel Miranda cutout. Her attempt at stealing it ("Ooh, gonna save  _this_ for later!") had been foiled by Bill, or at least he assumed so since there was a lot of shouting after she'd left the room with it in her grasp.

Whatever was left of his time when not getting examined by Stan or Ford, and spending it with Mabel, was wasted on sleep. The dosage of the painkiller was gradually getting decreased, an adjustment he'd disliked with the influx of pain following. Despite the lingering ache and puncture wounds, he was feeling much better than he had the night he'd run off and fallen into barbed wire. He still berated himself for being so stupid.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door squeaking open, the muscled form of Stan lumbering into the room, and although Dipper waited for the familiar figure of Ford to follow, it seemed Stan had come alone.

...Maybe not completely alone, he held a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, and Dipper tried to avoid sighing. It was a shame to see him like this again when he'd hoped he'd give the booze a rest.

At least he wasn't here to feed him. Being forced to take it easy had undone his progress toward trying to be thinner. Stan had lectured him about it, saying he couldn't pull that kind of shit because it wasn't healthy, and he and Ford had taken it the extra step: they stayed and watched while he ate their protein bars to ensure he was consuming enough calories regularly again. It was an adjustment until he was in his designated weight range, so they'd created a habit of staring at him in eerie silence as he downed sugar-water and high-calorie snacks.

But tonight, he didn't know what Stan was doing here.

"Kid," he greeted him as he took a gulp from his bottle. "It's about time we hada one on one." Those were the words that sent his mind spinning into an overwhelmed state, stomach dropping. In the midst of the chaos as of late, he'd forgotten that Stan wanted to have a chat with him and him alone, nobody else present. Oh. Oh no. And this was obviously that chat.

Dipper's heart was hammering in his throat, and he shuffled uncomfortably atop Bill's star sheets. "Uh, right now?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Like,  _right_  now? This minute? Are you sure?" Postponing it would be ideal, pushing the meeting off until the end of time and all that remained were microbial Stans and Dippers that were incapable of human speech.

Stan would probably be an amoeba.

"There's no better time than now!" Stan grinned at him. "Kid, I gotta be honest with ya. I'm diggin' the whole 'Bill and ya not bein' weird together anymore,' the guy's been really quiet and mindin' his own business and it's  _nice_." Dipper's face dropped at the news of Bill, a frown tugging at his lips. It wasn't like he enjoyed the idea of Bill driving everybody crazy, but from what he'd heard, he hadn't been… himself lately. Everyone reported a more subdued Bill- no nasty remarks, no snippy comments or petty fights, hardly any interaction.

Maybe this had been good for them, he just hoped Bill was doing alright. It was a definite sign of maturity and growth, how he stuck to his word and hadn't pressured him to forgive or let him back into his life. As promised, Bill had stopped communicating with him entirely, and Dipper assumed this was his way of showing he was truly apologetic and knew it might not ever be okay. From someone who otherwise would've fought him and retained that he hadn't done anything wrong, the Bill he knew two months ago, this was reassuring and actually backed the idea that Bill was striving to be a better, more responsible person. He'd put his selfish wants aside for his emotional health.

Realizing he hadn't replied to Stan, Dipper shook his head away from the thoughts and said, "Oh. That's… great? What's he been doing?" Surely he had to undertake a new hobby since he no longer cut people down at every opportunity, diminishing his daily activities by about fifty percent in one swoop.

"He has  _BoJack Horseman_  on repeat. All five seasons, back to back. The guy hasn't stopped watching it unless he has to leave for a job." He chuckled. "The point is, kid, I like it. And I don't want ya to stop it. It's been almost a week of no Billshit." Had it been that long? The painkillers had done a number on his perception of time, making it feel like a few days at most when the memories blurred together. It was hard to believe there'd been no contact with Bill for almost an entire week, and he wondered if Bill missed him at all, or if he was doing better like this.

Stan stepped toward the bed, peering at him before he took another drink from his bottle. "How's the ol' limb doin', kid? Has it been botherin' ya?"

Dipper raised his eyebrows, though he was smiling slightly, lips barely curved upward. "If it wasn't bothering me too much to prevent walking, I don't think I'd still be here." Reaction time slowed, Stan's fist came down on the bed, dangerously close to hitting his injured leg. Dipper moved to tuck it under himself for protection against further attacks, knowing Stan may not be so generous or well-coordinated in the future.

"I didn't come 'ere for your sass," Stan grumbled. "You're worse than Miss 'Let-me-get-cozy-with-the-fucking-police-chief's-daughter!' Your sister is a fuckin' nut, kid."

Narrowing his eyes and tilting his head, Dipper clarified with a cough, "So you came here to talk to me about my sister's sex life?" What she did with Pacifica wasn't really his business, and it was especially weird to talk about that now when Mabel was on a date, the sole reason she wasn't sticking around him like a moth to a light. He'd told her he would be fine alone for a few hours, but he was regretting that decision since The Talk with Stan appeared to be upon him.

"Nah, but I don't like 'em, not one bit! Ya can't trust those god damn pigs, kid, their family included. All they do is stab ya in the back, and I don't want your sister getting hurt."

"Oh.. I mean, I guess it's probably not the best situation." Pacifica being the daughter of Preston, and Pacifica dating Mabel. "But Preston hasn't done anything about it so far, and Mabel said he doesn't care about what Pacifica does, so it probably won't amount to anything." Kind of a messed up family dynamic, but there was the added complication of Preston's involvement in gang activity. Dipper wondered if Stan didn't know about that, if the connections were a secret Bill kept from him.

Stan snorted, tipping his head back to chug more of the alcohol down. "He doesn't care as long as he gets to hear about it, kid." Dipper cringed, involuntarily making a noise of utter revulsion and feeling disgusted down to his soul, but Stan continued, "The guy's a sicko, it's fuckin' amazin' he hasn't been shot yet over it."

Dipper seriously hoped that wasn't happening, though he didn't know what to say with an uncomfortable silence filling the space between them. "About Pacifica and Mabel… do you think that'll be a problem for joining the crew? Is that invitation even open?" It'd been a long time, but two months had come and gone, so he assumed Stan was under the impression they weren't going to pack up anytime soon.

"It's always been open, kid!" Stan coughed, glaring at the near-empty bottle of alcohol. Dipper's line of sight trailed after, settling on it as well. "Not gonna make ya join, though. It's always been your choice."

"Yeah," he said distantly, "do… you think it's a good choice?"

Grumbling as he finished the bottle, he slung it away, watching half of it shatter on the far wall. Wincing, Dipper's gaze flashed with confusion and mild annoyance. "Well, lemme tell ya somethin'— joinin' a crew is one hell of a time, kid. If ya like doing what you're doing now, it'll be a great decision."

Joining the crew aside, he mumbled, "I hope you're going to pick that up." Trying to get his mind off of the now-partially shattered bottle on the other side of the room, he thought about what joining the crew would mean. Not much would change, given they'd been acting like official members for a while but without the title. "Look, I think that's what I want, and what Mabel wants."

"I'm glad," Stan said. "I like havin' ya two around, y'know? It's nice. You almost remind me of someone." It wouldn't be a surprise to hear drunk Stan comparing him to Ford, they'd received that song and dance over being the same person in two different bodies from other crew members before, but he didn't really buy into it. Although he was flattered since Ford was probably the smartest person he knew, they were like night and day.

"Yeah, we'd like to stay." Dipper wondered if that was his cue to ask, and he tacked on an amiable, "Who do I remind you of?"

Stan waved him away, making a move to drink from a bottle that wasn't there. A good thing in Dipper's opinion, Stan didn't need to drink so much. "Ah, shit. They took 'er away, kid. It's all gone."

"Uh, what?" he asked, tilting his head as he tried to determine what Stan was referring to in his drunken state. "I… are you talking about your alcohol? You actually threw that, I don't think anybody took it away." And if that wasn't the subject of his vague statement, Dipper was at a loss.

He shook his head, raising a finger to shush him. "The wind whipped it from my hand, kid. I had no chance.  _No chance_. Hey, why're there– why're there two of ya?"

"You do realize there isn't any wind in here, right?" he asked dryly, glancing around the room as if to be certain, though he didn't know why he bothered to try to be logical when Stan was very clearly drunk off of his ass. "Why are there two of me?" he repeated. That brought him to raise his eyebrows, and he sarcastically said, "Well, obviously I cloned myself using a copying machine. ...Seriously, man, are you okay? Are you mixing alcohol with your heart medication again?"

"I'm better than okay," Stan informed him. "The room's spinnin', but I'm still standin'! An' that old stuff? ...I may've not been takin' it." He stumbled forward, catching himself on the mattress. "Hey, kid? I wanna say somethin'. I wanna apologize for that shit of a heist. You're still gettin' your share of the goods, okay?"

While thankful for the gesture, the monetary gains didn't make a difference to him with nothing to spend it on, and he shrugged. "Thanks. That's nice of you after… what, I guess leaving us to die?" It wasn't accusatory or cold, but sad. It was still hard to believe Stan could've been the reason he died in an alley, trapped by a blazing fire and cops.

Stan heaved a sigh, leaning to one side. "I didn't really  _want_  to, kid, I just… didn't have much of a choice. It was abandonin' one of ya– which surely would've killed ya, or leaving two of ya, which worked out well, didn't it?"

Unsure of how to respond to that without validation, Dipper frowned and said quietly, "I'm not justifying this for you, man." They were alive, which was better than dead, but the direct consequences of Stan's choice had been perilous and horrifying.

"I'm sorry, okay? I tried to make the best of a shitty situation and I'm not fuckin' proud of it." He glanced away from him, looking at the broken bottle of glass. "Fuckin' shit."

"Okay," a sigh, "and I know." Dipper knew Stan wasn't perfect and didn't blame him for making a poor choice under stressful circumstances, but he wished he wouldn't try to write it off because nothing terrible happened to him or Bill. Bad decisions were a familiar friend in his life; he understood, but he wasn't going to tell Stan it was alright.

Stan let out a snort as he shifted his feet, stumbling back. "Kid. I… I got somethin' for ya."

Watching Stan cross the room elicited a warning: "Watch out for the glass." It wasn't that he was uninterested in whatever Stan had for him, but he wasn't getting his hopes up for anything particularly meaningful since it was coming from an intoxicated Stan. Stan stepped outside, briefly disappearing from view until he returned with a black rifle.

"For you, kid. I think this'll fit ya well." Noticing his confusion, he continued. "What? Give it a feel!" He handed him the gun, much to Dipper's horror.

Holding it out rather awkwardly, he looked over the gift. "You know I'm not… good with firearms, right? It's not that I don't appreciate this and all, but yeah. I don't know if guns are my thing." No formal training, no desire to handle one, no reason to have it in the first place when he wouldn't want to injure or kill anybody with it. Remembering Stan's words, he asked with genuine curiosity, "Why do you think this would fit me well?" It was a  _gun_.

Stan stumbled again, catching himself on the corner of the bed. "It was made for someone like you, kid. Same height and weight, basically. Should be easier than managing the other firearms we got around here." The explanation was with a motion toward his body. "So maybe you don't use it, that's okay, you might not have to. Keep it."

Feeling more at ease now equipped with the knowledge that he didn't have to actually put the rifle to use, he guessed he could try it at a firing range. A morbid thought occurred to him, and he considered the possibility this rifle had been used to inflict harm onto others, the pain of its victims still lingering with the rifle. It sent shivers down his spine. "So… where did this come from? Is it new?" From what he could see there was some wear on it, suggesting the gun had been around awhile, and that was making him nervous.

"A display case for twenty fucking years." Dipper looked quizzical at the information, then shifted his attention to the rifle momentarily, unsure of why it appeared used if it had solely been in a display case. Stan huffed, trying to straighten himself up. "Someone else used the gun for a bit, but he left the gang and the gun behind. Fucker."

"Oh." Tensing, he inquired, "Did… uh, that member use this to kill anyone?" The inquiry was through a raised voice twinged with uncertainty, already feeling the answer was affirmative, and he was about two seconds away from handing the thing back because he didn't want a weapon coated in someone else's blood—

Stan broke into laughter, and Dipper's head tilted in surprise. "The guy wouldn't have hurt a fucking mosquito, kid. When I gave him the rifle, he was like you– he didn't want it, then he put blanks in it and refused to shoot people at a close range. When he shot  _at_  people, he only went for their legs and he missed every fucking time. On purpose."

"And this was someone that you willingly accepted into the Owls," he confirmed questioningly, disbelieving. It sounded so ridiculous, this experience in a crime gang, and he wasn't sure how somebody like that could've been useful when he always faced his own doubts over the same.

"It was a gang before the Owls existed, and I wasn't in charge. Shermie was." He scowled. "Where's a drink when I need it?"

Blinking, he asked, "Uh, what?" 

There was a pause in which they stared at one another, and Dipper couldn't help but think something was... wrong. If Stan noticed it too, he didn't bring it to attention when he frowned at him and changed the subject, "Are you keeping the gun?"

"Yeah, I mean… you said I didn't have to kill anyone with it, so I guess I will." Dipper turned the rifle over in his hands and realized there was an engraving, squinting as he tried to read what was written through the scratches. There seemed to be something blotted, then the word 'Pines' after the redacted bit. Startling, and he was about to ask when Stan beat him to it.

"Glad to hear, Mav. You always needed a weapon to help scare off those dicks." Good thing Stan hadn't gotten anything else to drink, it seemed he was more than a little out of it, and he wondered about the validity of his claims— about this apparent non-violence gang member, about… Shermie, whoever that was. Mav? He didn't know these people.

Dipper coughed, shifting uncomfortably. "Still don't know who 'Mav' is, Stan. Look, I know you're drunk, but I'm Dipper, remember?"

Stan grumbled. "...look a fuck ton like 'im, can't believe that fucker left." Although he still didn't really know who it was, it clicked: this Mav was the former owner of the rifle, the benevolent being he'd come to accept as his spirit animal.

Intrigued, he asked, "Do you have a picture?" He was fairly certain Stan's drunken mind was busy filling in details that weren't there, making him into somebody he couldn't be further from. The only person he'd ever known to share a similarity with was his father, but he didn't personally see the resemblance.

"What?" he jerked up, eyes flashing. "No, you're not… you're not seeing him. Don't talk about  _him_."

"Okay? We don't have to, I was only wondering since you said I looked like him." Shrugging, he leaned back to rest against the bed, bringing the engraving up to his face and examining it again. "What's engraved on here anyway?" Part of it was illegible, the other part was Pines, but it didn't make sense. "What was Mav's last name?" His guess was that it'd originally been engraved for Mav, then Stan scratched it out to engrave 'Pines' in preparation to give the rifle to him instead.

Stan stiffened, and he narrowed his eyes. "Don't say his name! Forget about him." It was hard to avoid reminding Stan who had brought him up in the first place, but he figured it was best to simply drop it. "As for that, well, ya see– it wasn't engraved before, I had it engraved specifically for ya and the fuckers spelled it wrong so I scratched it out."

"Right…" Well, okay then. It wasn't what he'd expected, but he supposed that made sense as well. Maybe. Dipper didn't understand why it had to be scratched out and destroyed from existence, but perhaps that was how Stan handled things. It didn't quell his probing mind, and he brushed a hand over the marks while debating ways to uncover what was originally there.

Stan moved to straighten himself up, taking the rifle back to set it on the nearby dresser before beginning to stumble back towards the door. "Good night, kid."

About to say goodnight, a thought sprung up and derailed his attention, a pressing matter that he hadn't been able to attend to before now with the painkillers clouding his mind. It wasn't the best opportunity with Stan being intoxicated, but maybe not the worst either, so Dipper blurted, "Wait." When it appeared that'd bought him some time with Stan lingering near the doorway, he coughed and said, "I… the night I hurt myself," he motioned toward his leg, "I ran into Owl Mask."

Although he didn't know if the interaction would be of interest to Stan, he figured it was his duty as an almost official Owl to mention the encounter with a rival gang member, especially its puzzling events. Stan and Ford often tracked what the Ravagers were doing, heeding news reports and guessing where they'd strike next, and it wasn't uncommon to overhear them discussing the possible identities of the mysterious stranger. "I would've told you before, but I just remembered."

Stan turned to face him, his face twisted into a combination of interest and alarm. "Did ya?" he questioned, suddenly sounding more sober than he had several seconds ago, more alert. "What was he like? Did he spill any secrets to ya? I wanna know everythin' you remember, kid." Hesitating, it wasn't that he didn't vividly remember the experience, but rather was the simple truth: he didn't have a lot to tell.

"He didn't talk to me," Dipper clarified, then guessed he could amend the statement, "verbally, that is. I was on the east end of the city when he just… showed up and had a gun, I freaked out and ended up in the barbed wire, then Owl Mask was suddenly there. He must have followed me? I don't know." Stan nodded encouragingly. "He saw I was hurt and took out this bandana to make a tourniquet." Dipper motioned toward the dresser, the red cloth still there since he hadn't been sure of what to do with it. "Then he left, that was it."

"What'd he look like, what was he wearing? Is that bandana-" he beckoned to it, "was that a part of his attire or did he have that hidin' in his pocket or some bullshit?"

Holding back a laugh at the near-childlike excitability of Stan, he tried to think about his appearance. "Uh, hm… well obviously there was the owl mask, so I didn't see any part of his head or neck, but I think he was wearing a brown jacket, maybe leather? Blue jeans and a belt, kind of gave him a western appearance." It wasn't something he'd noticed at the time, but the cowboy charm was amusing. "A normal shirt. The bandana was probably around his neck or near his face somewhere, I'm not sure where it came from aside from under his mask."

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Do ya remember anything else?"

Thinking about it and trying to conjure any other details that his mind could supply, he mused in the meantime, "Why are you so interested in this?"

"We've been tryna find shit out about this guy for years!" Stan barked. "This is groundbreaking!"

"I seriously can assure you this isn't groundbreaking." Crossing paths with the guy wasn't going to help identify him when it could be anybody in this city. "I don't know what else to say about him. Um," he paused on the word, "he was tall?"

Stan scoffed, shaking his head. "Everyone's tall compared to you, kid." Bristling, Dipper released a huffy burst of air, rolling his eyes. "What, was he Ford's height?"

Ford was a pinch above average height, which hardly constituted 'tall' in this situation. " _No_ , I meant he's actually tall. Taller than Bill by an inch or two, probably. Which would make him six feet tall and like… three or four inches?"

"Bill's only six feet," Stan thought aloud, and Dipper's expression betrayed his surprise at the revelation, always having been under the impression he was six feet and one inch tall. Seeing his confusion, Stan continued, "He lied on his license." Not about being a  _dic_ , the thought still made him laugh inside. He really missed Bill sometimes. "So… Owl Mask, that tall fuck, must be six two or three."

"Guess you have a nice profile to add to the murder board," he muttered sarcastically, not quite thrilled about the fact that Stan could possibly use those details to narrow down candidates and find who was behind the mask. "I'll probably never run into the dude again, so I hope that was enough information for you. Why don't you talk to Bill about this? He's the one that's seen him." And apparently thought he was the most attractive of the Ravagers members.

"Bill's seen him? Coulda fuckin' told me what that asshole looked like." Stan clenched his jaw. "It'll do for now. ...Though, kid? You're lucky he didn't kill ya."

"Am I?" he questioned. Although he bit his tongue, it was difficult to refrain from mentioning how dying may have been the lesser evil now that he had a completely broken, dysfunctional relationship with Bill in shreds, and getting the barbed wire out of his leg had been hell. Recovery was hell too. "I know he could've killed me, but he didn't. That's the thing. He had every opportunity, each time he appeared by me, and yet he actually may have saved my life with his tourniquet idea. Maybe the Ravagers don't want to be your rivals anymore."

"Oh, don't let 'em fool ya. They're plottin' something, kid– just ya wait, I can feel it. Don't let your guard down." Stan shook his head, grumbling as he plodded clumsily out of the room with a promise to pick up the shattered bits of bottle scattered on the floor tomorrow.

* * *

The movie had rolled to credits, leaving them victim to the endless stream of names and music. Mabel was sprawled beside him, her arms wrapped around his midsection tightly. "That movie sucked, Bro-bro!"

"We're running out of good things to watch," Dipper groaned in agreement, closing the laptop and setting it onto the nightstand. "I hate recovering. Everything hurts and Netflix only has so many movies to fill the hours of boredom." The hours that turned into days, he liked them a lot less now that he had been weaned off of the painkillers. The discomfort was more pronounced and achy, and time didn't fly by smoothly, instead dragging on forever as he was mostly confined to short walks around the room. Hobbles, really, and that was too painful to do for extended periods.

"Maybe we need a better service!" Mabel chirped. "Does Hulu have movies, or is it just shitty shows with shitty commercials?"

"Mostly television shows?" It was a guess, followed by a shrug. More suggestively, he said, "There won't be commercials if Stan wants to upgrade." At that, she made a face, shaking her head.

"What a ripoff! We can find shows without commercials for  _free_  on the internet, Dippy."

Dipper rolled his eyes then cleared his throat. "Well, shiver me timbers because that's illegal, lass! Only scurvy buccaneers would stoop so low." It was his best impersonation of a pirate, rather fitting for the occasion.

It was worth it when she grinned at him. "When was the last time we did anything legal? We're basically in a gang now, live a little!"

"Oh, right," he said, "I may have told Stan we wanted to join the Owls officially, so… uh, I hope you're okay with that. I don't know if he will remember the conversation, he was falling-over drunk." Stan hadn't been back in yet, but when they had an opportunity to chat again, he'd inquire about it.

"Nice! We'll be REAL Owl crew members! I can't wait to officially be a part of the gang and choose a part of the name," she squealed. "It'll be so fun!" Her smile faded. "I wish this'd come up sooner, though."

"Don't worry about it. I think Stan's concerned about Preston and the mayor being problems, but it'll be fine." Mostly Preston in Mabel's case, given her ties with Pacifica, but Dipper wasn't personally afraid. Bill had demonstrated there was no threat present since he tended to do business with gangs.

The thought of his boyfriend had his stomach churning, remembering what Bill did that night. "Hey, Mabel…? Can I tell you something?"

A rush of anxiety swept through him, considering telling her. He wanted to talk about the drugging incident but simultaneously didn't think he could bring himself to do it, miserably sighing. It was an issue between him and Bill, and they'd have to sort it out eventually. Hiding in his room wouldn't last forever.

She perked up, looking at him. "Is this about you being a thin beanstalk?" An additional burst of shame was compounded by her inquiry. His throat felt dry.

Shifting his weight, he peered to her with a curiosity albeit embarrassed expression. "Oh, uh… you know about that?" It was something he'd wanted to tell her about but never had the opportunity, now was as good of a chance as ever, he guessed. "I… I didn't know you knew." Stan and Ford had specifically avoided divulging medical-related information according to Bill, so her knowledge of the situation was staggering.

"I can see it!" She told him, and he raised his eyebrows. "You've really let yourself go. It's like you're some sort of skeleton now, like that…" she searched for the word, "skeletal display of a human we had in science class." She jabbed his ribs, he flinched. It was one of the first times his torso had been touched lately, a situation he often tried to avoid out of learned shame.

"Humphrey?"

"Yes! Only you're  _Ribby_ because look at your ribs!" Hiking up his shirt, Dipper examined his ribcage, failing to notice any difference, and his glance to Mabel was a mirror of his skeptical attitude. Despite that, she said, "We need to get some meat on those bones."

Smoothing his shirt back down, he said matter-of-factly, "Stan and Ford are working on it. They're always watching me eat at mealtimes, and they give me these protein bars to snack on, but they're kind of meh." Pop-Tarts were better, another addition Stan and Ford had encouraged into his diet until he was sick of them as well.

Mabel made a face. "I know, we should pump you full of lard. That should help you gain weight, right Dippy? You'll be back to being healthy in no time!"

"Ugh, that's super gross," he said but it was with a smile. "I don't think lard is the answer here. I'm getting back to a healthy weight,  _and_ I'm pretty much on bed rest so I guess that's helping." With Stan and Ford gazing at him intently while he ate everyday, there was very little he could do to skip meals or under-consume calories. "I… I never thought about it before, y'know? Then suddenly it's like my weight is constantly in the back of my mind whenever I'm eating or doing things."

"Why'd you start thinking about it, Dippy?" she leaned in close, to the point their faces were almost touching. "Do I need to beat someone up?"

Teasingly, he booped their noses together before pulling back, letting out the tiniest of laughs as he melted into his own thoughts. "Uh… I guess it started when Bill said I'd bend his fan— that's a whole story, it's not important. The point is, he kind of suggested I should lose weight." Which sent him into a spiral of self-consciousness and feelings of inadequacy.

Mabel bristled, a rare display of anger flashing across her face. "How dare he! I should tell him HE needs to lose weight, see how he likes that!"

At the idea, he snickered but shook his head, knowing that wouldn't help. It'd probably anger Bill at best, send him hurling ultra-personal insults back at worst. "He said he didn't mean it afterward and tried to stop me from losing weight. It just sucked for a while." Namely, the feelings of inadequacy that still continued, but that wasn't Bill's fault.

"It just  _sucked_? You've been starving yourself, Dippy! If Stan and Ford didn't get on your case about eating, you'd probably be dead."

Biting his cheek, he burrowed closer to her and wondered if he should say Bill cited the same worry but held it back. "Haven't been starving myself," he muttered into her shoulder. "I ate less because I thought it'd work for gradual weight loss, and…" a deep breath, "then I passed out before a heist. That's why I couldn't come a while ago."

Mabel squirmed, tightening her protective grip around him. "You starved until your body said 'stop', Dipper. That isn't healthy."

It wasn't, it really wasn't, but now he was paranoid. He didn't want to be overweight, didn't want to run the risk of Bill being less than attracted to him, though the fear was admittedly irrational after the discussions they'd had about it. Under the circumstances, it was nonsensical. "I'm getting better," he promised. "Trying, anyway. As in, I'm eating."

"Would you be eating if they weren't forcing you?" she asked, frowning. "I can't lose you, Dipper."

"You won't, seriously," he murmured, slinging an arm over her torso. "I swear I'm not going anywhere." They'd said they would stick with one another, and he intended on solemnly keeping to that.

Mabel nuzzled into him, and he warmly smiled at the affection. "You'd better not. I wouldn't forgive you if you did!"

"It won't be long until I'm at my usual weight, and I'll be healed and ready to go on heists again. Stan and Ford say it shouldn't be more than a couple weeks before I'm able to walk around normally without pain as long as I don't do anything strenuous."

"Good! Once you're back in shape, we can take those heists by storm!" Mabel said with excitement, and he felt his grin widening at her enthusiasm. She always knew how to put him into a better mood. He was thankful for a wonderful sister who doubled as his best friend in life, the most amazingly supportive companion. Innately, she knew the right amount of tough love and compassion to extend.

Nobody else could compare.


	33. breathing space II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): some brief suggestive stuff.

The light from the TV flickered across the room, illuminating the pair in glowing, washed out shades of blue. Mabel was curled up beside him, leaning against his frame as she stared at the screen. The rest of the penthouse's residents were asleep, and Bill wasn't here, leaving Dipper unsure of his whereabouts but nevertheless wondering given the lack of contact. He hoped he was safe since he hadn't seen him in a while, busy being cooped up in his room with a waning desire to venture outside his comfort zone and limited mobility. Without the aid of painkillers, it was a feat to have relocated to the couch at Mabel's request to watch some television shows with her this evening.

His thoughts had been on Bill more and more recently, especially jarred by the occasional instance in which he heard him talk, sharing muffled words with the others as he strained to listen through the wall. It was rare, nothing like the loud-mouthed Bill he was accustomed to, but he guessed it wasn't unexpected with Stan's information about his not-so-abrasive behavior lately.

Mabel's squirming pulled him from his thoughts, dragging herself so she was partially on him, and he grunted under the new weight before shifting into a better position. Dipper was careful to keep her far from his injured leg, still aching and stinging with a sharp burn that resembled the thorny wire. "Whatcha thinking about, Dipper? You look like your head's in the clouds!"

With a tilt of his head, he supplied, "I think that's how I always look." ...But his head was always in the clouds too, so he guessed he didn't know. As for what he was thinking about, it was as if his previous thoughts had been erased, and now he was thinking about his expression, how this 'head in the clouds' face appeared to others, and he couldn't remember the specifics of what'd been on his mind before that.

"Dip-dop?" She poked his nose, and he scrunched it as he pulled away to survey her. "You didn't answer my question!"

"Well, yeah, because… you can't just ask that," he said with a laugh. "I have a lot of thoughts, okay? And sometimes I'm not thinking about anything or I can't remember what I was thinking about," because the question interrupted his process, "and other times it's this completely stupid thing like… what I'd do if twenty ninjas suddenly jumped through the window and started attacking. It's dumb stuff." She frowned at him.

"That doesn't sound dumb at all," she informed. "I wanna be prepared for the ninja ambush too!" Mimicking the motion of a punch, she made an accompanying sound effect, "Wha-PAH!"

"I think they'd most likely come through the wall window. If we're quick, we could take shelter in my room." It was actually Bill's room, but that was a complicated matter he didn't intend to dwell on when it restarted the inner turmoil. "If you wanted, I have that rifle Stan gave to me as a gift. You could probably fight off the Ninja Attack Force with that." They were lacking bullets and credibility in this scenario, but he didn't care, not when Mabel was simply fun to talk to.

Mabel let out a little gasp of excitement. "I get to _shoot_  ninjas?! Ohmygosh Dipper, that's so COOL!"

Playfully, he nudged her and grinned. "I'm sure you'd be great at it. No contest, the ninjas wouldn't stand a chance, and you'd have them retreating in a minute or two. So, that's how we'd handle the Ninja Revolution." Good thing it wouldn't happen, because he didn't think he'd be nearly as useful or collected as he'd described. The instant the ninjas busted in, he'd be flopping on the floor having a panic attack, and the revived pain in his leg would make him want to die. Brushing the thought away, he continued, "Mabel Pines would go down in the history books as a heroine."

"I will be the ninja SLAYER," she told him happily.

"Yeah," he agreed with a nod, letting the conversation between them dwindle down again for a couple seconds. Glancing back to the television screen, he inquired, "Oh, by the way, what is this show even about?" It was a program of Mabel's choice, as he didn't have any preference with what they watched as long as it wasn't ten hours of soap opera. It'd been filling in as background noise to their discussion and his thoughts for a while, and he hadn't yet picked up what the plot was supposed to be.

Mabel grinned. "It's this murder show about how a girl cheated on her boyfriend and got pregnant by the guy she cheated with. Oh! That's him," she announced, pointing to the character. "So her boyfriend cut her open and she died! It's going over the investigation and their findings right now!"

That was significantly more intense than what he thought it'd be. "Wow. And you were asking me for my thoughts while all this is going on?" he asked with a motion toward it, the screen now featuring a scene with a police officer interviewing somebody. "I figured you'd be glued to the show."

"I've been paying a lot of attention to it! The boyfriend's a real douche, he wanted to cut the baby out so she could watch it die!" Well, that was many times more disturbing than he'd thought it would be despite now knowing the premise of the plot.

"Do you want to stop talking for a bit so you can pay attention to it?" Dipper inquired with a tilt of his head, uncertain, but not wishing to be the reason that she had to divide her thoughts between this and him.

Mabel made a face. "I like doing both, Dipper. It's really fun!"

"Okay," he said, "we can keep watching and talking for a bit. We're going to have to go to bed eventually, though. I don't think Ford would be happy if we stayed up until he found us out here when he gets his morning coffee." A glance at the clock confirmed his suspicions that it was slowly transforming night into early morning, midnight around the corner. Idly, he tacked on a quick question, "Are you staying with me tonight?"

"Of course I'm staying with you," Mabel said. "And we're gonna PAR-TAY all night, whether Ford likes it or not!"

Dipper's eyebrows hitched, then he melted into a quiet laugh. "I admire your enthusiasm? But you know me, I'm not really a party animal. I'm more of a go-to-bed-and-read-for-an-hour animal, which is what I'll probably do once we relocate into the bedroom." There was a pause as he spared a thoughtful glance toward the closed door of Stan and Ford's room. "Besides, I don't think you want to hear the lecture about irresponsibility from Ford for the next day and a half if we stayed up all night. He wants me to rest, remember?" It'd been near-threatening when Ford warned him that if he didn't take care of himself and get his physical health restored, healing would be a more tedious process than it needed to be.

Her response was a giggle. "That's only if Ford catches us, silly! We can put some test glass thingies out and he'll latch onto those. He won't notice a thing's amiss!"

Confusion struck his features at that, trying to process the idea she was proposing. "Are… you actually saying we should put test tubes out, and he'll be too distracted with them to bother with us?" If that was the plan, he couldn't help but snort at it. "Yeah, no. I'm just going to go to bed at a reasonable hour."

"Orrr… we deploy test tubes." Dipper appeared skeptical, but she merely rambled on. "Ooh, we can move his text book too! That'd drive him crazy!" Mabel's face broke into a grin. "He'd be so  _fordcused_  on that he won't care if we're up!"

"Oh my god, what do I have to do to get away from the puns around here?" Dipper asked with amusement lacing his voice. If it wasn't Bill making those awful puns, it was apparently going to be Mabel who saw the opportunity and picked up the slack.

She shifted on him, looking back at the TV. "Guess you gotta stay up with me, that's what!"

"Yeah, yeah, we can stay up for a little longer. Just don't be mad if I start falling asleep because I don't have a phone screen to keep me awake." It'd been lost the night…  _that night_ , and he didn't think it was worth making an effort to retrieve with nothing personal stored on the burner. Stan and Ford simply promised him a new phone.

And unlike Mabel, he didn't sleep until the afternoon rolled in, therefore didn't have the energy to stay up until one or two in the morning everyday without a book to encourage him to read past his bedtime; he was more of a morning person with a sleep schedule that only was interrupted by nightmares, though lessened now, or particularly fascinating rabbit holes of research and mystery novels.

"If you start falling asleep, I'll bounce on you until you wake up. Ooh, we should make coffee! That'll keep you alert, you'll never wanna go to bed!"

"Well, I guess that's one better than bouncing on me to keep me awake since I'm literally trying to recover from an injury." Even so, Dipper's face scrunched up at the suggestion of coffee brewed from the comforts of their residence. "It's too bitter. Creamer and sugar doesn't help, either."

It was interesting how the simplest of triggers had him thinking about how things were with Bill… again. This time, their coffee runs were at the forefront of his memories, and he recalled their many outings to coffee shops, their yellow and blue mugs and the night Bill purchased them, and most importantly the conversations they'd had over these coffees. The long drives, the bonding. He really missed it, but the thought of Bill and…  _that_  sent uneasiness into him.

Mabel gave a short whine. "We should have Stan pick up those syrup flavors when he goes shopping. It shouldn't be bitter with that!" Before he had a chance to respond, she gasped. "We should try coffee with the milk syrup!"

"Why is there a 'milk syrup'?" It didn't sound very appealing. "Seriously, just add milk to the coffee, it's not that hard."

"No, dummy, it's syrup used to flavor milk! It's how you can get strawberry or chocolate milk."

"Okay, next question: why would I want that in my coffee?" The chocolate milk flavoring might be okay, the strawberry one sounded brutal. "I think I'll pass on that, but Stan would probably be willing to get it if you asked him." Chances were, he'd also be on board with trying whatever gross product it created, or he'd be too busy eagerly chanting on whoever was going to try it.

Mabel looked thoughtful. "I wonder if there are other milk flavors? I like blueberries, is there a blueberry milk?"

"That is pretty gross," he commented. "Why not stick with soy milk or almond milk?" Those were slightly sweeter but still valid alternatives without the classic milk flavor, if Mabel was trying to branch out from that.

Dipper realized that instead of thinking about this milk dilemma, maybe he should be examining why he and Mabel were discussing milk of all subjects. Had they really run out of things to talk about? It took nearly twenty years, but here they were.

"Hey Mabel," he started, trying to carry on from the milk topic so he could get a break from the internal wincing and thoughts of mild disgust. "Is there anything that you've dreamed of doing for a long time?"

Mabel shrugged. "I wanted to be an 80s-style rock star, but Mom told me that it was unlikely it'd happen."

Although he'd meant something more along the lines of an obtainable activity, he guessed that was okay as well, though it wasn't exactly possible to achieve. "Yeah, she always was more realistic about that sort of thing." Their mother had been their reality check when everyone else would indulge them— she'd been a no-nonsense woman, and her approach prepared them for the challenges of the world.

"She was," Mabel agreed. "I wish I still had that guitar Dad got me. I wonder if it's even back at the… old house."

"I don't know, probably not? I figured they cleaned it out," Dipper said, shrugging. In all likeliness, it'd been empty for a couple months now since they'd gone through the belongings shortly after the news had broke.

In reference to the guitar, he asked, "Do you want to get another one? I mean, I don't think Stan would be able to deny you because there's already a piano in here. A guitar doesn't take up nearly as much space." Her expression had grown sad.

"It wouldn't be the same."

Dipper's throat tightened. "I know." She was right, replacing sentimental objects from their old life didn't bring back their old life, and it never would.

Mabel glanced away from him, a frown on her face before she perked back up. "Hey, have you talked to Bill recently?" Talking? He hadn't even seen Bill recently since he stayed in his room, and Bill kept his distance out of respect. "I haven't seen you two around each other since he brought you back!"

"Yeah, that's because…" Dipper trailed off, trying to scour his brain for a non-accusatory, neutral manner of explaining the situation, "because we're sort of giving each other some space to think about things. Look, Bill did something, uh, not great a while back, and he confessed it to me that night, so that's why we haven't been talking as often." It was a vague explanation of events, but the mere thought of verbally transcribing the memories to be replayed to Mabel had his stomach in knots, both over the upsetting incident and worries over what she would think about it.

"He cheated on you?!" Her response was immediate, body bristling.

Alarmed, he shook his head and certainly  _hoped_ that he hadn't, though he doubted Bill would after his unfounded rant on polyamorous dating equating it to cheating, and repeatedly expressing his preference for monogamy. "No, he didn't cheat or anything—"

The expression on Mabel's face twisted into outright horror and disgust. "So he RAPED you?! That son of a bitch, I'll have Stan kick his ass with me!"

A strangled, startled noise escaped him, and he went rigid. " _No_! He didn't do  _anything_ like that, okay? Seriously, he wouldn't do that to me." Or anyone. Bill did so many unspeakable things, but Dipper knew that'd never be one of them. "If he had raped me, I— we wouldn't just be taking time away from each other. We'd be done, and I'd be asking you to help me go to the police." Criminal records and the failures of the court system be damned.

As if some higher being witnessed this conversation and saw an opening to make it worse, there was the sound of the door opening across the room, and Bill stepped inside– two mugs in his hand as his gaze fell on the duo. "You're out here?" he sounded surprised. Dipper stared blankly at him, blinking dumbly, before he realized that was probably his cue to nod.

Feeling choked, he didn't know where to begin, fully aware this wasn't the most ideal time to have an encounter with the precise person he'd been attempting to avoid when there was so much to discuss and he felt ready for none of it. Sitting in the living room to watch television had been a poor decision in retrospect, and he was internally beating himself up for being so stupid, obviously Bill wasn't going to be gone forever. He lived here too. "I… uh, yeah," the words were a struggle, "but we were going to leave in a second."

Bill shifted, crossing the room to set the blue mug on the table in front of Dipper. "I'll go, don't bother. Thought you'd like a coffee, but I didn't expect you to be in the living room," he laughed weakly. "I was going to knock on the bedroom door and leave it for you to collect."

"Oh." At first, he'd hesitated, afraid the coffee was a gift to facilitate conversation between them, but it seemed Bill was set on keeping to his no-interaction promise and this was merely an unfortunate run-in that he and Mabel were primarily the reasons for. "Thanks, I think. I appreciate it," he said, looking to the familiar blue mug and realizing not long ago he'd been thinking about how badly he missed this… but this was different. This wasn't a night drive with Bill where they listened to his old pop music from 2009 and enjoyed their coffees together while they talked until the early morning hours.

Shifting his attention to Bill, he saw he was beginning to move away and instinctively said, "Wait. Don't— you don't need to go. It's late, stay here."

"I don't know," Bill murmured, glancing from Dipper to Mabel, then back to Dipper. "I don't want to intrude, you two seem like you were having a good time."

"No, your timing was fine," Dipper reassured. It was actually not too awful, putting aside the awkward and uncomfortable air that'd surrounded them, but it saved him from sharing the specifics of the situation with Mabel. Actively hiding it from her wasn't his intention, but giving her information came with a risk: her intervention as a "love expert" and judgment as his twin sister. "Besides, isn't this… like, your bedroom now? We're sort of the ones intruding." It was late and past the time they generally went to sleep. They didn't need to finish this episode of the show, it could wait until a different day, so he turned to her with a gentle, "Let's go, Mabel."

Mabel was making a face at Bill. "Wait, Dipper. I need to give this  _sexual predator_  a piece of my mind!"

Taken aback, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "What?  _Mabel_! He's not a sexual predator!" Despite her earlier concerns about the complications in their relationship, he thought he'd made it exceptionally clear that Bill hadn't done anything of that nature. "And… you don't know what's going on between us, there's nothing to give a piece of your mind on. Let's go to bed." Bill narrowed his eyes, looking at Dipper questionably as Mabel placed herself between them.

"He did something," Mabel insisted. "He's always been an inconsiderate dick, Dipper. If he's been a bad boyfriend to you, he deserves to be put in his place, and we're going to get to the bottom of this right here, right now!"

The aggression toward Bill was concerning. While Dipper was aware it was her method of simply being protective and showing she cared about his well-being, he wasn't sure how to address this and redirect it to skirt an unnecessary confrontation. "Uh, if you have a problem with Bill, that's something for you two to work out." Whether it was valid or not, it was a conversation that didn't involve him. "I don't think you should be using our current relationship struggles to do this. Whatever 'this' is. So are we dropping it and going to bed…?"

Mabel shot him an angry look. "My issue with him is he's always hurting you, like some big– jerkwad! And you're letting him get away with it. I'm tired of seeing you get hurt because he's incapable of treating you like a proper Dipperman!"

"Hey, I'm not 'letting him' get away with anything!" he protested with a new huff to his words, suddenly defensive. It wasn't a parent-child relationship. This wasn't supposed to  _punish_ Bill to begin with, this was their time to recollect themselves and choose where to go from here, how to rebuild the relationship, and his time to work out how he felt with the mixed emotions haunting him. He and Bill were occasionally a volatile combination with how they continuously inflicted damage upon each other, most of the times accidentally or with good intentions to start. He couldn't remember the last time either of them had knowingly attempted to hurt the other, which counted for something.

Calming himself, he sighed and combed a hand through his hair. "I know you're trying to help, Mabel. And I'm thankful for it, y'know? But maybe this… maybe you shouldn't be involved with this one without knowing about what happened first." Throwing cruel words and accusations around would merely make the situation harder for them.

Bill had been mostly quiet through the interaction, clearing his throat. "I should go..? Chaotic sibling bickering is fun, but it seems being here is only more trouble than it's worth. See ya, kiddos."

"No!" Mabel snapped. "Dipper, if you'd just  _tell me_  what happened, I could help! I thought you trusted me."

She was giving him that look, the pleading one that made him want to cave. "I do trust you, but  _we_ are not in a romantic relationship with Bill."  _He_ was, not Mabel, not the two of them. "It's weird to talk about that when the issue is sort of personal," his eyes drifted to his boyfriend who seemed out of place in the room, a very strange occurrence when he boasted more confidence than most of the city collectively, "and I don't know how Bill would feel about it."

"I don't think I have the right to tell you what to do or what not to do at this point." Bill sounded tired, sad as he gazed at him with dark eyes. It brought a frown to his face.

"Yes, you do," he stressed. "You're still an equal in this relationship. I'm super upset with you and hardly know how I feel about everything, but that doesn't mean you need to bow down to me and my every command." Exploiting Bill's vulnerable state would be cruel, and as much as he was in turmoil over the drugging situation, he wasn't going to use it to his advantage to make Bill feel like the lesser in the relationship.

Bill's gaze shifted to Mabel, and his tone was dry as he spoke. "I slipped ketamine into his drink two months ago to calm him down so I could take him to a party, then I lied to him and told him he drank a lot while we were there to explain his memory lapse." At the explanation, Dipper gawked at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape because he'd put forth effort to maintain relative privacy out of respect and Bill did… that. Just spilled everything, and hearing it hurt almost as badly as the first time he'd found out. The shock factor was the only element that was absent, yet it made him want to curl in on himself and shut down from the rest of the world.

Mabel looked like she wanted to brutally demolish Bill. "You DRUGGED him? No wonder he doesn't want to be around you, you sicko!" Although Dipper had been about to protest the name-calling, her eyes narrowed at him, and he thought better of it. "I have an idea! Bill, sit on the couch! Now!" As if she could read his mind, the next bit was directed at him but wasn't nearly as cold: "Dipper, don't you dare slink off to bed, we need to talk."

"Mabel, come on. This is really taking it to an extreme, and we'll get this figured out on our own. Please, can we go to bed? I'm tired, Bill is tired, and this is pointless when forcing us to have a conversation about it won't solve anything." Dipper wasn't ready to confront this issue, wasn't prepared in the least. Being forced into it couldn't end well for anybody.

"Shh!" She raised a finger to silence him, glaring at Bill until he begrudgingly took a seat on the sectional. "This is IMPORTANT! Like communication in a relationship, not that Bill would understand since he's a heartless jerk and obviously didn't care about what you wanted." She didn't skip a beat, moving on. "I think you both need to spill the beans and talk about how you feel about all the tension between you! Let's start with Bill and what you think about this." Before he could utter a word, she said, "Or not because no one wants to know what you think as the abuser in this relationship. Dipper! Your thoughts please."

"I don't think we should be doing this," he replied flatly, eyes darting between Mabel and Bill as an expression of displeasure settled on his features. "You're being unfair to Bill, and it's not productive. Neither of us want to be here, so…" he made a vague motion toward the bedroom. "If you're not going to be civil, I'm going to bed."

Mabel shook her head. "I am being civil! I'm giving him a taste of his own medicine, since he was being abusive and unfair to YOU when he drugged you without your consent." She shot Bill a scalding look, and Bill actually flinched– misery was written into his uncertain expression, like he wanted to leave and never come back. A part of Dipper was afraid that was exactly what would happen if they carried on down this path, considering Bill wasn't above disappearing, and his lack of reaction, the total absence of aggression, was foreign.

"You can do so much better," Mabel informed him bluntly. "Get yourself a man who doesn't drug you then lie to you about it! That's controlling and uncool, and definitely not something you want in a partner, Dippy."

Unsure of what to say to  _that_ , he was at a loss. "I…" he started but trailed off. Lowering his gaze to his lap, he willed himself not to get emotional over this, not now. They'd had a week apart and it still wasn't enough time to truly rein in the surge of anxiety, but that was why he hadn't sought Bill out. When his own thoughts stopped being a complicated mess of overwhelming proportions, that was when they could determine where to go from here. "Bill isn't abusive," he said quietly, "he made  _a mistake_." That wasn't even touching on how he'd done everything he could to keep him comfortable throughout this, dutifully sticking to his promise to wait for him, and how Bill had been the one to come clean about it when he faced no external pressure to.

Mabel shook her head furiously. "A mistake is a typo. He intentionally drugged you and lied about it, that makes him an abusive dick." Although he'd been about to reply, a small noise of pain escaped Bill that caught his attention before he could formulate the words.

Swallowing thickly, he looked to Mabel, then back to Bill, who appeared… defeated. Defeated and sad and it made his heart hurt. "Okay," he exhaled, rising to his feet with a wince from the discomfort, "Bill, we need to talk. Alone. On the balcony." Sensing a protest was coming, he glanced to his sister to say, "Mabel, stay. I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

Although his gait was a slow and painful wobble, Dipper trailed after Bill, moving past the sliding door into the Los Santos night. Almost instantly, he heard another choked noise from Bill, a broken sound mixed with a feeble attempt to contain it.

Taking a seat on the patio sofa to save his leg from the strain, he held his face in his hands for a few seconds, then brushed one of them through his hair. The stress was overbearing, but at least they were distanced from someone who seemed to simultaneously push them closer together and further apart, yet he felt unequipped for either motion.

Bill had been standing by the railing for a short amount of time, his voice quiet, quivering as he spoke. "Can… can I join you?"

"Yeah," he said after a second, then scooted over to create a bigger space for him, "if you want to." Bill moved to join him, and Dipper could briefly see how watery his eyes had become, the streaks of wetness down his cheeks. He froze, staring at the couch, and he stopped short, opting to stand to a side instead.

Puzzled by this, Dipper asked, "I thought you were going to sit?" Unless he'd misinterpreted the request which he probably did because it felt like he and Bill were on totally different wavelengths now and oh god he'd probably created an awkward mess—

"I shot the couch." There was a distant tone to his words, remaining quiet, almost a whisper. "All I've ever been is abusive to you, haven't I?"

"You shot the couch three months ago, Bill," he recalled through a sigh, bordering on frustrated but mostly exhausted. "And it wasn't because you were being 'abusive.' I'm pretty sure I told you to do it, thinking you wouldn't, then you happened to take me up on the offer." Scared him half to death, but what had he been expecting?

Sighing, Bill took a seat beside him. "I probably shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't do a lot of things. I should… stop."

Knowing they'd have to acknowledge it, Dipper cleared his throat, trying to come up with a composed manner of articulating his thoughts. But reality reminded him that he was Dipper Pines, and social interaction was a major shortcoming, so he simply spilled through a distressed gush, "So about what happened in there, I am seriously so sorry about that, dude. The things Mabel said about you. I'm guessing she's trying to keep me safe, but you know I don't think that about you, right?"

"I don't know why you don't." There it was again, that quivering– like Bill wanted to break down in tears and was trying everything to hold them back. "It was all true. You do deserve so much better."

That seemed… unhealthy, for Bill to think of himself like that. Like he wasn't good enough and had to prove his worth, and it stung worse when he'd felt like he was in a similar situation, trying to be physically attractive enough to capture Bill's interest. "I don't think that's a good way of thinking about it," he mumbled. "It just… puts us in this weird position where you're placing me on a pedestal and we're not equals anymore." Biting his cheek, he wrung his hands together and went on, "I know what you did was fucked up, okay? And yeah, it's not alright because that's a huge issue and it's going to change our relationship." It'd require a significant amount of time to create a new foundation of trust. "We'll get to it, but… that night isn't tonight, and what you did doesn't suddenly make you the lesser part of this relationship."

It was probably well past midnight by now, they were both drained, and he could safely say they weren't ready for that conversation especially after the 'help' Mabel had given. It meant the awkward distance separating them would remain, but it'd be better to wait to tackle it.

Bill succumbed to sobs, his body falling against the opposite arm of the couch. It was hard to see him that vulnerable when he so rarely broke down and displayed his heartbreak on his sleeve, and Dipper's own emotions were responding to Bill's, his throat tightening while his eyes grew glassy.

"Bill," he said softly, trying to redirect his attention. "I don't think you're abusive. I think… you're trying really hard to be better and improving yourself, and it's been difficult for you, but I  _know_ you didn't mean to hurt me. I know you care about me a lot." Not to mention, the incident in question had occurred nearly two months ago. "Look, my sister is amazing, but I'm not sure she was thinking clearly when she said that stuff." It'd probably been the heat of the moment, finding out about the atrocious thing Bill had done. Having been the more understanding and forgiving counterpart, she wasn't usually like that. Bill broke down further, unable to contain it– it was a few seconds before they slowly died down, and Bill's body still heaved silently as he fought to regain himself.

Struggling to keep his own emotions in check, Dipper promised, "We'll talk about it soon." They would, he would try to get his own thoughts in order and decide what he needed from Bill to move forward with beginning to rebuild it. "I know that sounds kind of ominous," he gave a light, nervous laugh, "but it's not. Seriously. I'm not…  _mad_  at you. I don't hate you." Deeply upset, slightly disturbed, unable to trust for now, but not mad and far from hateful.

"I know," Bill barely managed, his voice cracked. "I don't know why you don't, but I know. I..." Tilting his head to a side, Dipper patiently waited for him to finish. "...Nothing, it's nothing important."

Unsure of what to think of that, he asked, "What's going on? I mean, if it has to do with… that night, maybe we shouldn't talk about that yet, but if it's something else…?" Above all, he was concerned and didn't want Bill to feel unheard, which would reinforce his ridiculous idea that he was somehow the subordinate of the relationship when that wasn't true.

"I'll tell you later," Bill murmured. "It's not… it's not a good time right now."

"Oh... uh, okay." Sensing that Bill wanted to drop it, he let the subject fade as he stared toward the city, suppressing a sigh. Silence engulfed them while Dipper watched the vehicles soar below, little blurry balls of light floating over damaged pavements with a dirty sky hanging overhead. Although he had a skylight to look through, being physically outside was a welcome change of scenery, and he didn't know how long they sat together in each other's presence, no words passing between them. 

Turning back to Bill with a timid half-smile, Dipper shifted closer bit by bit until they were a few inches apart, then all but gently flopped against him, pulling his boyfriend into an affectionate hug. Things weren't okay between them, he wasn't forgiven, and they had  _so much_  to talk about, but it didn't mean he loved Bill any less. The trust aspect was hanging by a thread, however Bill was still one of his best friends and favorite companions, and his confession wouldn't change that. Bill tensed under his touch, but to Dipper's relief, he slowly relaxed into it, reciprocating the hug tightly as he burrowed his body against his own. This issue wasn't him versus Bill, they were a team and working toward the common goal of a functioning, healthy relationship.

They remained like that for several minutes before he pulled away, murmuring, "I'm not sure when we'll see each other and talk next, but… yeah, try to make good choices and know your self-worth. You're not a bad guy." That was probably the best he could do, anything more explicitly loving didn't feel right under the circumstances. Dipper gave his hand a squeeze before moving from the sofa, hobbling into the penthouse.

When he'd went inside, Mabel wasn't there, and he wondered if that meant she'd gone to bed without him. After collecting his coffee and wandering into Bill's bedroom (or his, now), his suspicions were confirmed: Mabel was swallowed by the big sheets but still awake, and he quickly joined her in the blankets once he'd grabbed a book from the shelf for later. "Are you tired?"

"Nope."

"Okay. We kind of need to talk about what happened with Bill."

Her eyes scanned over at him. "What about it? I thought it went well!"

"I don't think it did," he confessed, brushing his fingers over the fabric of the star-sheets idly. "You were sort of harsh on Bill. I know what he did was awful and terrible, but that doesn't mean you should go to that extreme and make him literally freeze up and then cry. He's been trying to be better about it, about everything, and I think he only told me about this because he thought I should know."

"It _was_ a little harsh." Mabel shifted, wiggling until she was in a sitting position and looking at Dipper. "I wanted to protect you! This isn't the first time he's done something questionable."

"I know," he groaned, throwing his hands over his face, " _I know_ , and that's why I'm having such a hard time with it." Along with their trust being utterly disintegrated and relationship in ruins, that was. He didn't know how they would pave a new normal for themselves when it was as if everything had fallen apart. "He did a horrible thing, but that still doesn't mean we should be spitting on Bill like he's the scum of the planet even if it might feel like he deserves it."

"I didn't think I was doing anything wrong," she admitted quietly, and Dipper's expression softened. "He's hurt you, multiple times, and it… I don't want him to keep doing that, Dipper. You're my bro-bro, you don't deserve that."

"No, it's not that you did something wrong," he rushed, reassuringly pulling her into a loose embrace. "It's that… maybe being forced to talk and acting accusatory toward Bill wasn't the most helpful thing for us when we're trying to take some time away from each other?" It was intended to be a statement but was more like a question, and he sighed. "I'm so glad I have you, Mabel. I know you're trying to look out for me, and I wouldn't be with Bill if I thought he wasn't making huge strides in self-improvement. We hurt one another… a lot, because we suck at relationships," and at maintaining stability in their lives, "but it's never intentional." Bill wasn't free of the blame, but neither was Dipper; they made their share of mistakes, and it landed them here.

Mabel shuffled, wiggling close as she returned the embrace tightly. "Still don't like my bro-bro getting hurt."

A weight had settled in his gut, and his breathing was shallow with anxiety as he asked, "What do you think about our relationship? Do you think it's actually abusive?" Whatever she said, he silently promised he would listen to it and respect her answer because Mabel knew him better than anyone. She had his best interests in mind and wouldn't be afraid to tell him if she thought Bill was a negative force in his life.

"I do," Mabel confessed. Dipper felt his stomach drop. "He's been… extremely jealous of you being around your friends without him, he's tried to pressure you into doing sexual things when you don't wanna!"

"I don't think he's done any of those things in… quite a while," he mentioned, thinking back over the past occurrences. Sexual pressure hadn't been a problem since the night with the vanilla scones, and his jealousy… Bill didn't appreciate being left out of things, but Dipper had attributed it more to insecurity than controlling behavior. "I'm pretty sure he's jealous of his friends doing things without him, it's not specific to me being there. I mean, I know that doesn't excuse it, but I don't know. I like to think he's been making efforts to change."

She shook her head. "I don't believe it one bit. That's a part of manipulation, Dipper– it's to erase all the bad things he's done, and it's only been three months! Someone can't change in three months."

Dipper frowned, but nodded to acknowledge her points of concern. "I didn't… say he's  _changed_ , I said he's been trying to, but I get that it hasn't been very long." Regardless, that counted in his opinion because Bill was making a serious attempt. "It'd be easy for him to slip into old habits, and he does sometimes, but it feels like it's becoming less frequent, and we're better at communicating now. Is that too optimistic?" It was still a struggle, but it was better than where they'd started. "He does—or used to do—a lot of questionable stuff, but he doesn't manipulate me anymore," as far as he knew, the paranoia setting in, "and I don't think he  _tries_ to hurt me. It sort of... happens, on both ends."

Mabel frowned. "I dunno, Dippy. I don't trust him and his… golden sneakiness, it feels like he's playing with you."

Dipper wished he could admit he had the same thought sometimes, his obsessive mind fretting over whether they were making genuine progress or not. "He was basically sobbing earlier. I know he used to be an actor, but that's taking it to the next level." Not to mention there'd been quite a few proposals so far, and he didn't dare find out if Bill would follow through with them since he was nearly certain he would.

"Anyone can cry! That isn't going to convince me he's going to be good to my bro-bro!" Mabel let out a small huff, moving to squeeze him tightly, and Dipper sighed as he melted into her.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked, a touch mournfully as he speculated that she would suggest breaking up. "You've always been better at this stuff than I have, even if your talk with Bill and I earlier was… not good. Like at all."

"Yeah, but I was super pissed. It's hard to be calm when some asshole is being horrible to you." Mabel nuzzled the back of his neck. "And my advice? Drop that dickwad, you can do better Dippy! I know you can."

"If things don't get better in a month, I'll break it off, okay? But he hasn't done anything 'abusive' in quite a while, and I don't want to ruin a relationship that's a step from being healthy when we're both trying really hard to make it work." In spite of the odds, they were pushing themselves to be better at communicating, better at problem solving without blaming or guilting. It was a process and giving up was a tough choice when they'd come so far.

"Better figure it out quick, Dipper. An abusive jerk is still abusive even if he makes promises to change. Besides, I won't live at this penthouse forever and I can't always look after you."

Although he'd been about to protest that he didn't need looking after, he was more worried about the first part of that statement. "What? Where are you going?" As far as he knew, he and Mabel would be staying here for the foreseeable future.

Mabel shrugged. "I'm moving in with Pacifica soon! We're working out the deets, but I've been trying to tell you for like, two weeks, but you were too busy with your relationship drama, then you were on painkillers and might not have remembered if I said anything."

Crestfallen and anxiety steadily rising, he shifted uncomfortably to look back at her. "I… Are you sure? Pacifica could move in here." Maybe. Probably not, but he wished she could. "It's just— we've lived together our entire lives, and I don't want to lose you." Dipper enjoyed living under the same roof and couldn't imagine it being any different, not very fond of Mabel's moving-out plans.

"You won't be losing me!" Mabel told him. "I'll still be around, and we'll remain in contact no matter what. The difference is I'll be living it up with Pacifica too."

"Okay, but… can you not move out? Consider this plan, stay here for a few more months. Please." Dipper didn't want to sound desperate, but facing the possibility of losing Mabel wasn't a reality he could handle. "I need you here, just… for a while. Until things calm down." Honestly, there would never be an ideal opportunity, but this seemed like poor timing with joining the crew and the rockiness with Bill.

Mabel hesitated. "This has been a long time coming… I can't put my life on hold for you, Dipper. We're not children anymore."

"You've dated Pacifica for three months! That's too fast," he stressed, almost begging, caught between wanting Mabel to be happy and selfishly asking her to stay. "Look, I know we aren't children anymore, but that doesn't mean you have to move out right now or whenever you get the details worked out."

"I thought you might be happy for us," Mabel said, her voice sad. "I thought you of all people would be supportive."

"I'm sorry," he said, but it was strained through an exhale. "I do want to be supportive, but it feels like everything has been terrible," between getting injured and the issues with Bill, added to the pressures of officially joining, "and I don't want you to leave me by going to live somewhere else. I know that's… stupid." Mabel had been the steady source of comfort in his life, the familiar presence, and he didn't feel ready to let that go. She squeezed him again, pressing close to him.

"I won't be that far away, and it's not like it's immediate. We don't even have an apartment lined up yet, and she still has to talk to her dad about it. Plus, I haven't said a word to Stan."

"I wish you didn't have to go," Dipper murmured, feeling an internal ache, a sense of loneliness seeping into him from the new information. "You  _have_ to move out to be happy?" That suggested he couldn't propose coming with either, though he desperately wanted to. "Like, you and Pacifica, on your own…?"

Mabel sighed softly into him. "Yeah, we wanna get a studio somewhere around here. Maybe a two bedroom sort of thing, it depends on what's cheaper."

"So, uh, in  _theory_ there'd be room for someone else," Dipper pointed out, "and if my relationship with Bill doesn't improve so we break up, I'll need somewhere to live since staying here would be uncomfortable. Or if I didn't break up with him but things were still distant..." As he gazed at her, distress was visible on his smooth features, so fearful of being without the centerpiece of his life after the recent tragedies. The anxiety of losing the people he cared about was awakened and amplified significantly by the sudden deaths of his parents, so knowing Mabel wished to take up residence somewhere else when they'd always been together was… difficult. He was afraid for her. He was afraid for himself when the isolation would be crippling.

"I dunno," she murmured. "We'll see. I was planning on making a spare room into a storage room or guest bedroom."

"Oh." Dipper kind of wanted to cry but wasn't sure what to do, what to say to see if Mabel could reconsider or hold off for a while before seriously looking into this. He didn't want to be on his own, not now. Sure, he'd be with Stan, Ford, and Bill, but none of that mattered when Mabel, his lifelong best friend, wouldn't be around.

"Hey, Dippy?" His response was a sad hum, unsure of what she needed from him.

"Love ya." She raised her hand, poking his nose.

"Love you too."  _Please don't leave_. "I guess we should get some rest...?" It was a shaky question, and he didn't wait for a reply before he collapsed in on himself to bury his sniffle into the blanket. Tears weren't coming, but he did feel an overwhelming sense of dread and was left wondering why his life had become… this complex mess of one issue after another that never gave him a break. Trying to be happy for Mabel, he squeezed his eyes shut to push the thoughts from his mind, recollecting his composure just enough to straighten up and grab the novel from the nightstand.

Coffee and a book would be the perfect support system for the coming hours since Dipper knew he wouldn't be getting sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is Sunday. Thank you for sticking with us & reading this far, we sincerely hope it's been worth your time. <3


	34. Chapter 34

Restless, Dipper didn't think he could sleep. Tossing, turning, shifting positions, stretching, nothing helped induce a peaceful slumber. It was a unique situation. There was usually no room for insomnia in the ever-shifting presence of nightmares, so this was foreign to him, but probably… probably quite familiar to Bill.

There was a pang of sadness within him. It'd felt like forever since they last talked, or had seen each other for that matter, and he wondered if Bill had moved on from him. It'd only been a handful of days since their previous brief encounter, but Bill had made it clear his exploits were generally flings, and he didn't know if it was fair to expect him to wait. Irrational, possibly, but a worry weighing on him when neither knew when they'd be able to patch things up. If they would be able to, he guessed.

Curiosity overtaking him and knowing he wouldn't be getting sleep regardless, Dipper shuffled out of bed to scale the room, opening the door then peeking through the crack. Beyond, he could barely see the sectional sofa with a very Billish mass on it, and that was the motivation needed to keep him hobbling toward it, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in his leg.

It was still healing well, according to Ford, slowly but surely. Not long until he wouldn't have to concern himself with pain or overexerting himself and tearing the stitches.

"Bill?" it was a soft call into the dim light, a pale blue glow in the penthouse from the moonlight.

The reaction was almost instant, with Bill's body jolting off the couch and onto the floor with a _thump_ , and that broke Dipper into a quicker pace much to his body's discomfort, standing over him with a hand outstretched. "Oh my god, are you okay?" he asked hurriedly, distressed. "I didn't mean to startle you, man."

Bill shook his head, staring at his hand blankly without moving to take it, and he let it drop away to clasp them behind his back. "I'm fine," he murmured. "What're you doing out of bed? …Do I need to leave?"

"No," he said, taking a seat on the edge of the sectional sofa, "unless… you, uh, want to. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He'd simply wanted to see Bill, make sure he was okay, preferably discuss what to do from here, address the deep fear Bill had given up and acquired a new partner. "I thought I'd find you out here, I kind of was hoping we could talk."

His gaze shot uncontrollable shame into Dipper, the way it swept over his body. With Stan and Ford's presence during mealtimes and their constant urging to relax and have snacks, it'd been impossible to avoid regaining the weight he'd been shedding prior to the incident. With the additional couple pounds returning, he was acutely aware of the fact that he'd filled out since the last time they'd seen one another.

"No, I'm not uncomfortable," Bill said. "I didn't really want to keep our distance to begin with, but… it's what you needed." He averted his eyes from him, looking to the floor. "What do you want to talk about?"

So many things. "About us, mostly," Dipper replied, frowning at how Bill hadn't moved from where he all but rolled off the couch. Shuffling to get closer, he laid on the cushions of the sofa, looking down at Bill. "I don't think I'm ready to forgive you," and he didn't think he ever would be, something Bill knew, "but I still… want to be with you, if you'll have me." There was so much more to discuss, but he figured he would start with that and determine where to go depending on Bill's answer.

His lips twitched downward. "Pine Tree, I never stopped having you." After a moment of pause, he added: "I thought if anyone would, it'd be you– you've put up with plenty of my bullshit."

"I know," it was a strained, sad noise, and he ran a hand through his hair as he tried to recollect his thoughts. "And I wish I knew if it was the right thing to do. I've told you that I don't  _want_ to be the one to put up with it anymore because I thought… maybe it would get better, but then something huge happens," like Bill drugging him, "and I feel like I can't stick to it. I guess that makes it meaningless, huh?" Spending time away from Bill had sort of made it not as meaningless, but here he was, trying to pick up the shattered bits of their fractured relationship. "I figured you'd have moved on and found someone else, someone who doesn't care as much and is fine with you doing… whatever immoral thing you want to do that day."

Bill shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I don't know, Pine Tree. It was weird, you being gone, but you wanted nothing to do with me… and I get it, I fucked up big time. You… well, I don't think you trusted me but you had some faith in me, and I ruined that. I'd apologize but… like you said, it won't change anything, it doesn't matter." Appearing distant, he glanced away from him. "I don't want to move on. You're the only person to ever get stuck in my head."

With a lump in his throat, he looked away as well, rolling onto his back to fold his hands over his chest, staring at the ceiling. Gathering himself to no avail, it felt like the barrier between them was as strong as ever. "Yeah, I don't want to move on either," he said, ignoring the voice crack. "Being with you is so amazing but—" a shuddering exhale, "but I don't know if I can do it if it's going to be like this. Getting in fights, being on each other's nerves over stupid things, feeling like I can't… completely trust you."

"What can I do?" Bill mumbled. "Can I do anything? I don't… I don't want this to be it, Pine Tree." In agreement, he nodded a little.

"It's not okay," Dipper said, sounding wounded, "and I still don't think it will be, what you did. But…" he trailed off with a sigh, fingers twitching against the fabric of his pajamas as he attempted to convey himself, an undertaking more challenging than he'd believed it would be. "I guess as long as you understand why this is such an issue, and why I don't know if I can really forgive you for it, then I think maybe we could try to continue? And stay together, I mean." His breath caught at the end of the sentence, hopeful. Hopeful but anxious.

"I'd like that," Bill murmured, and Dipper relaxed. "If we could… I know I fucked up, I don't expect your trust or forgiveness." Although he didn't want to rule anything out, forgiveness seemed impossible; acceptance and building a new foundation were more likely outcomes, and trust would follow.

"See, the thing about that is, you can't keep giving me reasons not to trust you. That's why I struggle with it. I  _want_ to trust you, you're my boyfriend." And it seemed ridiculous that he didn't, why he bothered with a relationship where there was an absence of trust. "I know you've gotten better since you did that, and I don't think you'd do it again, but it's still… hard, for me."

His voice danced along the border of sad. "I know." After a moment of pause, he continued. "I'm trying, but I know I'm still… unreliable. Untrustworthy. A fuck up."

Without hesitation, he objected, "You're not a fuck up."

"Nothing that's happened has suggested otherwise, sugar." A glance at Bill brought Dipper to realize how plainly  _exhausted_ he was with dark eyes and sunken features, it was concerning. "I keep hurting you."

"Are you kidding me?" Dipper asked, blinking at Bill, who… was surprisingly still laying on the floor, but not that surprising either since he hadn't heard him move. "Yeah, well, you've also saved me a ton of times now." Then, he recoiled, eyes growing a bit glassy. "Do you think those times were fuck ups?"

Bill met his gaze, confusion in his own. "Why would I think that? You're so fucking marvelous. I'm just… the bastard that constantly hurts you."

"Because you said… you were saying all these things like, how you've been fucking up," he said with a vague gesture, leaning closer. "You don't  _constantly_ hurt me, and it's gotten way better recently too." It was obvious they were both trying to make their relationship less tumultuous, and Bill's medication definitely assisted in smoothing over his mood swings. "I mean, you don't intentionally hur—" there was a startled squawk as he lost his balance, grasping at the cushions to no avail and falling forward, crashing into Bill. " _OhmygoshI'msosorry_!" he spurted as he scrambled off to a side, trapped in the small space between Bill and the coffee table. Bill let out a pained noise of surprise, jolting away from him. Luckily, Dipper's leg didn't seem disturbed by the fall, and he mentally breathed a sigh of relief because shooting pains wouldn't have been a fun addition to this night. "Are you okay?"

Of course he wasn't, obviously he wouldn't be okay, maybe if he had been a couple pounds lighter… he wouldn't be such a klutz, nor would the impact have injured Bill, whose hands immediately went to his lower abdomen, wincing. "Stars, that fucking hurt."

Worried he wasn't alright, Dipper shuffled closer to hover over him, undoing his vest to hitch up his shirt. "Is it okay if I—?" he didn't know why he was asking now when he was already partially through his clothes to examine the injury. Once he'd gotten the fabric out of the way, his expression softened in sympathy at the bright red blotch, and he deduced, "I bet I kneed you. That…" his fingers lightly brushed over the spot, "looks painful."

His exploring fingers were swatted away by Bill's hand as its owner huffed in discontent, dragging himself away from Dipper. Appearing dejected, he placed his hand in his lap and gave Bill the space he craved. "I'm fine, it's fine. It'll heal."

"Right," he mumbled with a dutiful nod, then watched Bill for several long moments. The heartache was still so intense, brutally gnawing at him and making him wish he could take the complexities of their relationship and throw them out the window. So much for a perfect romance. "I'm still really sorry, I didn't mean to do that." Throat tightening as he peered down at himself, he wondered if he should say it, the self-consciousness that'd been suspended over him and his eating habits despite Bill's previous reassurances. "I feel super guilty about that, and it probably doesn't help that Stan and Ford have been…" he gestured as he searched for the right words, "staying with me during meals."

"I don't know why you're sorry," Bill told him. "You look fine, and you've never been heavy. It's a  _good thing_  they're watching you eat."

"I don't feel good about it," Dipper confessed, flicking his eyes to Bill before bringing them to his figure and fighting the internal wince. "I can't stop hearing what you said, even if I know it's stupid." Bill had already explained he hadn't meant it, regretted the statement, and additionally it wasn't as if he  _should_ care about what he thought of him anymore… but he did.

He could hear Bill shuffle beside him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I never meant to hurt you."

And with that, he was struggling to keep his emotions in check, didn't feel ready to think about  _that_ again just yet, neither of the issues in the recesses of both of their minds. They knew they were there, it simply felt too impossible to overcome. "So what you said before," he started while he cleared his throat, "I'm grateful for that, like… I appreciate it, y'know? And I'll think about it, us."

"Okay." The silence was a painful reminder of how broken it was with them, how different things were now, and fodder to fuel the notion that it'd never be the same.

"Okay," he parroted, nervously wringing his hands. "Well, goodnight. And if you wanted to come to bed, like your actual bed, I would be okay with that, or if you just want to stop in or something..."

"Are you sure that'd be okay? I don't want to disturb your injury, cutie."

Dipper lifted his shoulders half-heartedly, admitting, "I just really miss you." However, he didn't want to pressure Bill into seeing him if it would make him feel awkward. This meeting hadn't been the most pleasant, but he guessed he hadn't exactly expected it to go over well under the circumstances. All he could hope for was that they'd fall into place again, resume where they left off and try to salvage what remained.

Bill offered him a weak smile, but the light in his eyes was hollow. "I miss you too, sugar." He moved to sit up, glancing down at his stomach to push on where he was sore. "And it's already mostly gone, by the way. The pain."

"Wish I could say the same about my injury," he muttered, getting up as well. "It stings when I walk, and they took me off the ketamine a while ago because they didn't want me getting addicted. It hurts." Not as much as the first night, but it was enough to make him seriously consider asking for another round of painkillers. Shifting his weight, he peered earnestly to Bill and said, "I… I hope I'll see you soon." It was almost questioning. "If you want to, I mean."

Bill merely nodded in return and reclaimed his position on the sectional sofa, while Dipper bit down a disappointed sigh.

* * *

There was no sign of Bill, but he didn't linger on the thought. Mabel didn't give him time to wallow in self-reflection or sadness, encouraging him to get out and  _do something_ that wasn't worrying about his situation or relationship, but being around her merely reminded him of the impending, inevitable day she'd leave him behind.

"What do you think of this? Is it too tight?"

He hated envisioning it. It added an extra stressor to his life and while he wanted Mabel to be happy, he wished that happiness didn't have to involve pushing her life forward without him. It was an ounce of jealousy, and a ton of feeling like he was being forgotten by the one who'd been at his side.

"Do I look better in the necklace or the scarf?"

Those thoughts followed him around the entirety of the morning. Mabel had done everything she could to make their outing pleasant: giving him control over the car radio, fetching him one of the mall's wheelchairs when he couldn't walk after the pain became too intense, buying him a cinnamon roll, looking at the plaid shirts with him, holding up the conversation when he hadn't bothered. But none of it mattered. How could it when she'd be gone in a day, a week, a month?

"Oh, should I go with the skinny jeans or the sweats?"

It was hard to keep the overbearing thoughts from distracting him even now as afternoon rays seeped in from the skylight, creating the perfect environment for some reading in bed, but his preoccupation with Mabel's departure rendered him unable to enjoy any of those things.

"Dipper!"

"Yeah?" Exasperated, he raised his eyes from the text of his novel to peer at Mabel who was staring at him, expression skeptical. "What is it?"

" _Maaaybe_  it's just my imagination, but I'm starting to think you're intentionally ignoring me today," she said. "I was hoping to spend some time with my bro-bro, and it feels like you've been blowing me off. What happened to quality twin bonding?"

"I'm not  _ignoring_ you," he protested through a mumble, pretending he hadn't been too wrapped in his own thoughts to pay attention. "I was busy reading, and we spent the morning together." Marking his place in the book, he fell back against the bedsheets and winced as the brightness of the sun splashed over his face. "Besides, I'm tired." Probably, maybe, not really. More like trapped in his own sadness and fretting.

"You haven't turned the page of that book in like, ten minutes."

Relenting, Dipper admitted, "I guess I was kind of distracted." But that'd been true over the past few days, it wasn't a new adjustment. Getting accustomed to life's changes had him strung out again, struggling and failing to cope with what remained on the horizon.

Mabel appeared hurt. "Your head's always in the clouds, but you don't usually ignore me."

"I've had a lot on my mind, that's all. I talked to Bill one night, and now there's this whole thing with you moving out…" as he spoke, the words felt choked, forced, but Dipper willed himself to remain composed. "I'm not trying to ignore you, okay? I wouldn't do that to you."

Although in some ways, it felt like Mabel was doing that to him. His pleas to stay at the penthouse were going unheard, his requests to live with her were met with uncertainty and cautioning that they couldn't be together forever. It made it seem like his life was slipping beyond his control, spiraling into a deep trench of loneliness and a distinct lack of stability.

She moved across the room, joining him on the bed for the sake of an embrace, though it did little to bring him comfort. "Oh, Dipper," she said through a sigh, but affection was intertwined with the sympathetic words, "I'm not moving out immediately, and you're totally welcomed to visit."

"You  _are_ moving out," he prompted her flatly, biting the inside of his cheek as if that would suppress his emotion, "and you said I can't—"  _come with you_ , but he couldn't manage to say it. "I don't get it, why you're so eager to leave. We've never been apart like that, and I… I didn't think that'd change."

"We're almost twenty," she gently said. "We're not going to be together constantly. I've been with Pacifica a lot these past couple of months, more than I've been at the penthouse. It's been really nice, just being with her. It's nice being with you, but it's… different. It's like I'm actually being my own person, a real adult, for the first time since we've always lived with Mom and Dad."

"Have you talked to Stan? You and Pacifica could live here. Her dad, Preston… maybe wouldn't mind?" It was unlikely that either party would allow it, though, and he swallowed a miserable exhale. "Wow, I know that sounded desperate. Uh, forget that plan… would you at least be able to hold off for a while?"

"I already told you it wasn't going to be immediate." She poked his nose gently. "Relax, bro-bro. Is this why you've been so—  _whomp,_ " the sound effect and its accompanying exaggerated expression of disapproving sadness was puzzling, and he tried to avoid laughing at it, "lately around me? I wish you would've brought it up sooner."

"Yeah, maybe." Rolling onto his side away from her, he wished there was an alternative. "I don't know. It's not easy to relax when you're like… my best friend, and you're going to be leaving. Especially with all this other stuff going on, and it hasn't been that long since our parents… y'know, died." The last bit was fragile. "I thought we'd stick together."

She let out a small laugh, moving to wrap her arms around him in a hug. Although he stiffened, he didn't move away from the touch. "We're not Stan and Ford, we can't live together until we die. That's… that'd be weird, Dipper."

"It's not weird for Stan and Ford," Dipper said with a glance to her, "so I don't see why it would be for us? It's basically no different, and I mean… with how they fight on a daily basis, I like to think we actually have a better relationship than they do." He and Mabel had been close throughout their lives, and he hadn't realized that would change with the introduction of a steady girlfriend in Mabel's case. "And it's still too soon for you and Pacifica, isn't it? Three months isn't that much time, and things are fine the way they are." It was comfortable, and he didn't know why she was determined to change this.

"Um…" Mabel gave him a weird look. "Maybe it's too soon for you," that elicited a questioning look, "but we're happy together. This is an important step for us, and I think it might be good for you too, Dipper. You have to give it time."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, frowning and trying to keep his voice from cracking. "It's like, the cherry on top of a list of problems I don't need right now. There's this—" Dipper motioned toward his bandaged leg, which was still on the track to a healthy recovery, but it would be a while before it was fully healed. "And then there's the whole thing with Bill that I don't know what to do about. It's just… not a good time, because this will take some adjusting to, and I don't..." he trailed off with a shake of his head. "I don't know what I'll do without you."

She gave a reassuring squeeze. "Dipper, have confidence in yourself. You have survived  _so much_ , you're way emotionally stronger than you realize. And you'll be fine, alright? I know this is a change, but I'd like to move forward with this part of my life and do something I really want to do. It's not like I won't be around, I just won't be living here."

With a pang of sadness, he realized Mabel was right. It was unreasonable to expect they would be physically living together for decades to come, and asking Mabel for that arrangement was selfish when she'd already stated it wouldn't work. Despite the flood of anxiety that came with knowing Mabel would leave eventually, he tried to put it aside because it was an aspect of becoming an adult that he knew—they both knew—they'd have to face eventually.

This wasn't about him and how he would feel about her decision to move in with Pacifica, how distressing the thought of it may be, this was about her doing what she needed to, and he replied, "Okay. I'm going to miss you, whenever you do go."

"I'll miss you too." Mabel's grin was wavering, and although she tried to hide it, Dipper instantly recognized the look as worry. "Are you doing okay? I know this is a lot to take in."

"I don't know. Better, I guess." It was an endeavor trying to pinpoint his emotions recently when they were all over the place and fluctuated greatly depending on the barrage of thoughts that were swimming through his head. After a few seconds of deliberation, he nodded slowly, "Yeah, better."

"I'm glad!" she nuzzled him. "I don't want you to be upset, Dippy."

Exhaling slowly, he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not upset— well, I am. Sort of." It was confusing and a tough situation to process, and he knew it would continue to hang over him. "You don't mind if I stay with you, do you? I feel like it's going to be horrible, being here without you."

"I don't mind," she told him. "Visit all you want and stay for a few days whenever, just keep in mind this is an apartment meant for Pacifica and I. Not…  _us_." She said with a hand indicating between them.

"Not… to move in, but it might be nice to have the option," he said quietly, fretting about the possibility of the penthouse feeling less like home when Mabel wasn't here with him. "Somewhere to go if things aren't great around here."

Mabel squeezed him. "If it comes to that, you can stay for a bit. I don't think it will, but you better keep me in the loop if you're not doing good. I want to know  _everything_ , and if you think you can't live here, my door will be open."

"Thanks," he murmured. "I appreciate it."

"Since you're feeling better," Mabel continued, "I'm gonna go ahead and tell Pacifica she can talk to her dad about moving out! We've mostly been waiting on that before we seriously looked into it."

Puzzled, he clarified with an awkward cough at the implication, "Wait, you weren't going to do it until you knew I'd… be okay?" There was a new lump in his throat from that, and he somehow was able to give her a watery smile. "Look, it's… I know it'll be difficult, or at least I think it will. But I want you to be happy."

"I know." She returned the smile, snuggling against him. "But I'm not going to abandon my bro-bro if he needs me." The words were more reassuring than anything she'd said so far, a promise he was taking as a guarantee that he wouldn't be left miserable and alone without anyone to turn to. It didn't erase the feelings of uneasiness surrounding Mabel's decision to find a new place of residence, but it did take the edge off of his worries.

"We can see how it goes, and—" Dipper was interrupted by a gentle growl, and he pulled away from their embrace to look at Mabel quizzically, giving her stomach a poke for good measure and amusing himself when it gurgled. "Are you hungry?"

"Getting there," she informed him. "And I want those pizza pockets if you're up for making them. We can keep talking about this if you had more to say about it, but let's be real, pizza pockets make everything better."

"Yeah, they really do," he agreed. "I didn't have anything else to say, by the way." Nothing important, anyway.

"Okay, but you need to tell me if something comes up. No more keeping it to yourself." Dipper nodded his agreement with a lopsided smile, and Mabel seemed to decide that was her cue to curl her fingers around his wrist, tugging him toward the edge of the bed. "Let's go, broster. Those pizza pockets are calling my name!"

* * *

Sleepily, Dipper opened his eyes to the dark bedroom, the only illumination that of the moon filtering through the skylight. The stars were dimmed either by clouds or pollution, he couldn't determine which, but there was no sign of the sun, making him wonder what'd caused him to wake. Rolling onto his other side to attempt to resume resting, he heard it: a distinct, rhythmic thump. A low thud,  _thud thud thud_ , and it was louder when he pressed his face to a pillow.

Curious and more alert, Dipper repeated the motion and tried to distinguish the sound to no avail, chalking it up to either plumbing or something in the other room creating the disturbance. His interest in finding out the source overrode his desire for sleeping, and he shuffled from the blankets to approach the bedroom door, ears pressed to the wooden structure.

It was clearer, definitely footsteps. Too heavy to be Mabel or Ford, and this was confirmed when he opened the door to reveal Bill, and was met with the sudden stench of cigarette smoke. He was pacing like a caged tiger, restless and uneasy, a cigarette held up to his mouth with two fingers. It was discouraging when he thought he'd quit, but that could be put aside for the moment.

"You were right," Dipper said with a weak laugh, closing the door behind himself to lean against it. "Pacing is much louder from your room." It stirred a memory within Dipper of the night so long ago that Bill had ranted about how he was preventing his rest, now he understood why and wished he hadn't been the cause of his sleepless nights. He had enough trouble with insomnia as it was.

"What?" Bill's head whipped to look at him, the cigarette pulled slightly out of his mouth as smoke billowed from his lips. "You should go back to bed."

"Jeez, chill Smokey Joe. You don't have to worry about my sleep schedule." It'd been decent lately, especially with the injury; there wasn't much to do during the day other than eat and nap on and off, then watch Netflix and repeat. "I thought you'd join me some night, since I offered that a few days ago, but I see you were busy doing this." Beckoning toward Bill with one hand, he said, "Whatever this is."

The response he received was a look of confusion. "It's been days…?" Carrying on, he returned the cigarette to his mouth, mumbling, "I'm trying to relax."

"Yeah, it's been days. Where have you been?" There was a decent chance he didn't want the answer to that if it was something self-destructive, so he closed the distance between them to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, frowning at Bill. It had to be difficult, stopping a habit that provided stress relief, but he didn't want to be the one to lecture him. So he settled on a soft "shouldn't do that in here" as he walked toward the balcony to put it out safely.

"Hey," Bill objected, undoubtedly trailing behind him. "You can't just come in here and  _do that_!" Ignoring the protest, Dipper weaved through the furniture to the balcony and extinguished the lung cancer on a stick, then handed it to Bill. He was standing in the doorway, appearing to be displeased with this development. "Just for that," he grumbled. "I'm going to smoke fifty more."

"I guess that's a step above threatening to throw me over the side of the balcony," he said with a cough, taking a seat on the patio sofa. "I didn't say you couldn't smoke, just said you probably shouldn't do it in the penthouse."

Bill stared at him, looking more frustrated, and Dipper tried to avoid sighing as he knew where this was going. "I don't care if it gets into the carpet or the furniture. I should be able to smoke wherever the fuck I want."

Dipper's response was a little dismissive hum of contemplation, but he'd already moved on and defeatedly murmured, "I don't want to fight." Respecting the belongings and space of other people was important, but he didn't care to restart arguments, too tired and worn down to spend his night trying to get a point across to a man too stubborn to care.

He huffed, looking at the snuffed cigarette between his fingers. "What a fucking waste. I was looking forward to finishing it." Bill sighed.

"So start another?" he suggested, shrugging, aware it was the unhealthy choice but unable to bring himself to encourage Bill to stop altogether. "If you're smoking, I know you have more than one on you." As much as he didn't like it, he'd never actively urged him to quit, but had definitely been supportive of his decision to do that while still in effect.

"When did you start advocating for smoking?" he challenged, still visibly annoyed.

Shoulders tensing, he explained, "I'm not  _advocating_ for smoking, okay? You said you were trying to relax, and it just seems like smoking might be the easiest way to do that right now without starting another stupid fight." The reality was, he was too exhausted to bother with exchanging verbal blows and would prefer to get Bill calmed. "If you have a better idea, though…?"

Bill tossed the cigarette over the side of the balcony. "I just wanted to smoke and pace in peace. That's all I wanted to do." Uneasiness settled in Dipper at the thought of being the reason Bill wasn't enjoying the tranquility he desired, and he rose from the patio sofa, intending to go back into the penthouse and leave his boyfriend to his own devices. "What're you doing?"

"I was going inside. I thought that might—"  _make you happy_ , but it stopped short on his tongue, feeling somewhere in the middle of melodramatic and accusatory, so he swept a hand through his hair as he rephrased, "—give you some space." It seemed to be all they ever did now, as unfortunate as that was, two beings that were struggling to fall into place again and sort of floundering through the motions of a relationship. Worries that it would be like this for the remainder of their time together haunted his mind.

"I don't want you to leave," Bill tiredly told him, leaning against the balcony railing. "I'm… frustrated, but I shouldn't be taking it out on you. Please don't leave."

"Okay." It wasn't as if sleep was a possibility if Bill was going to resume pacing, so he wandered over next to Bill, resting his weight on the rail as well. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, eyes dancing across the city engulfed in a state of never-quite-darkness with the street lights and flickering neon signs, headlights passing through.

It was a weird combination, having so much disdain for the city as everyone who lived here did, but knowing nowhere else could be called home.

Shifting his attention to Bill, he inquired, "What has you all stressed anyway? I don't think you said."

"Just… everything, I guess. It doesn't matter." He glanced away from him. "Is there any reason other than the noise you got up?"

Raising an eyebrow, he tilted his head to stare at Bill skeptically. "Hey, don't try to turn this around on me, Mr. Everything-Is-Stressful. You should tell me about that instead of being vague and mysterious and making me wonder if you're secretly leading a double life."

Bill shot him a burning look. "I'm not, so stop wondering that." It'd been a joke, and he rolled his eyes at the defensive reply. "Don't worry about me, okay?"

"You're one of my best friends, dude,  _and_ my boyfriend. I'm going to worry about you if you're so stressed that you've apparently fallen into a habit you supposedly quit a while ago. Until you tell me what's bothering you, I'm not going to stop asking, so you should probably get it over with. Let's try again: what's going on?"

"What's going on," Bill repeated to him, and Dipper went rigid, more concerned than before by the tone. "What's going on? Everything is what's fucking going on, with you being hurt, and it being my fault, and thinking you were going to die, not being able to see you for over a week and once I finally do, it feels…" he took a breath. "Like you're still bleeding in that alley, and all I can do is watch and know it's my fault, and there's nothing that can change that." That was… overwhelming, and he tried to mentally take note of the points raised, wishing there was an easy answer to even one of them.

Dipper hesitated, then took Bill's hands in his own. "I'm not asking you to do anything except, y'know… not lie to me, or be manipulative. The gaslighting, drugging, unnecessary fighting, personal insults— I just want it to stop, so we can have a healthy relationship.  _That's_ how you change it." And time would patch up the trust between them. Perhaps it would never be the same, but Dipper dealt with it. What more could they do? "Look, we're just— trying to do the best we can with what we got, I guess? Like, I know we're both flawed and… and have issues, but I like life better when we're together, so there's that."

Bill turned his head away from him. "I like being with you, and I keep thinking back to that night, and it's… what if that barbed wire had cut your artery? Or what if you did have internal damage? I was so close to losing you again, and that scares me."

It was tempting to make a comment about the grand Bill Cipher actually being afraid of something, but he held his tongue. "Do you want to like, leave or something? Is that what you're saying…?" he questioned, cocking his head in inquisitiveness. "It'd be a little inconvenient since I told Stan a while ago that Mabel and I want to join the Owls, but I'm not against the idea." He mused, "I mean, it might be nice? You and I living the rest of our lives somewhere, maybe at your place in the country."

"I…" Bill looked uncomfortable. "Domestic life isn't quite my style, cutie. I don't think I could be happy like that. It'd be… too bland, too repetitive."

Swallowing hard, he felt choked as it sunk in: Bill intended on doing this until he physically couldn't, or was dead. "Oh." As much as Dipper tried to deny it, there was a tiny part of him left with disappointment, wishing to salvage what he could of his old life before this, but he shook it away. "That's okay, but I guess you'll have to make your peace with me almost dying, or… dying, maybe. I'm still new at this, not really trained, and will probably mess up and die." It was an aspect of the lifestyle that he didn't care for either, but it seemed Bill didn't like the other option.

Bill narrowed his eyes at him. "Ah, but cutie! If you don't participate in heists and we get married, Stan wouldn't be able to get rid of you, you could have a… semi-domestic life like you want, and I can continue being in the Owls."

Backing off entirely, his gaze turned severe, displeasure dripping in. "This goes both ways. I know there's more risk for me," since he was inexperienced and did dumb, stupid things admittedly, "but I'm seriously worried about you on every single heist. You've had near-death encounters too, not to mention would've killed yourself, so forcing me to stay here as your housewife while you pretend to be an action hero wouldn't make the problem go away."

"You almost killed yourself too," Bill reminded him but didn't linger on that long. "Besides, I'm not  _pretending_! I'm better at what I do than Stan or Fordsy."

"That's not the point."

"What," Bill threw up his hands, "how could you possibly be happy with doing nothing all day, every day?"

"We wouldn't be doing nothing," Dipper said with a huff tailing the sentence. "There are normal careers to enjoy, traveling, projects and hobbies, and we can do what we want to do instead of what somebody else is telling us to do." Clearing police records was an option according to Bill, something done as a favor with both sides winning: the gangster would walk away with no strings attached, the police could make a scene about 'catching' them. From what Dipper gathered, it was viewed as the nuclear option and the coward's escape route, but wasn't unheard of.

Bill shook his head. "If you're so damn set on that life, why don't you just leave…? No one's forcing you to stay."

" _For you_ ," he snapped, exasperated. "I've been staying for you. That's basically the only reason I'm still here." Mabel seemed indifferent at best now that her relationship with Pacifica was cemented as serious and she had future plans to leave, the heists were alright but stressful, and he could do without that. During most of his time here, he'd been awaiting the day they'd be freed onto the streets to enjoy the rest of their days in semi-normality, it was the unobtainable dream he'd stuck to, a method of reclaiming the way he used to live prior to the disaster. Joining to be with Bill was giving up the hope he'd be able to resume that. A bit lower in volume and more broken, he said, "And if you're not going, that isn't leaving me with many choices, and I… I don't want to be the source of your unhappiness."

"Pine Tree," his voice had grown quiet, losing that determined edge. "You'll never be the source of my unhappiness." With their fights and trying to encourage Bill to make better decisions, it felt like he was the root of that anger and pain and heartache, and even now... It was hard to remember he wasn't responsible for Bill's actions.

"Well, is there anything I can do to make you happier?" he asked, deflating. "It feels like we didn't resolve anything, really. Like your frustration with feeling helpless, and being afraid I'll die." They'd talked about it, but with no concrete solutions that would be mutually agreeable, meaning Bill would probably get a start on those fifty cigarettes once he left.

Bill shrugged, looking at him. "Talking to you always seemed to help, I guess. It was never about you dying on the heist– it's more about  _me_  putting you in a situation to get hurt, or killed, or… worse."

Dryly, he pointed out, "But you're fine with killing me." That deal wasn't forgotten, he expected it to be completely in effect as long as he was a member of the crew. Watching a situation go from bad to worse to fatal wasn't something he wanted to see in his lifetime.

"That's a 'worst case scenario,'" Bill said. "I highly doubt it'll boil down to that, doll, unless Stan tries fucking us over again. And if he does that, I'm shooting him in his fucking head."

Running his hand over the railing, he wished he knew how to be reassuring, but there were no guarantees regardless of which path they embarked upon. Something could happen on a heist, walking across the street, or a brain aneurysm could end everything. "You won't put me in a situation like that." It was a flimsy statement, and he had no evidence of that, but it was the best he could do when he wasn't sure what to say.

Bill had regained his determined expression, looking away from Dipper at the city. "I won't," he agreed. After a moment, he continued. "Hey, cutie?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for tonight." He turned, leaning over him to plant a kiss on his head. "You're sweet."

Cheeks warming, he said a bit breathlessly, "Oh, uh, that's— wow. Thanks." An unexpected compliment, and it had him giddy over a few genuine words. Affectionately leaning into Bill and nuzzling him, he murmured, "I'm going to go to bed. Try to get some sleep, okay?" Although the door was open if Bill wanted to relocate into his bedroom, he wasn't going to push it since he hadn't expressed interest in staying together. Probably for the best when they were awkward around one another, in the process of searching blindly for the next steps.

With a quick kiss on the cheek, Dipper was turning around and beginning to walk toward the sliding doors but heard a shuffling noise behind him. "Uh, what are you doing?" Bringing Bill into view, the situation was clear enough with him emptying his pockets of cigarettes and lighters, handfuls being thrown over the side of the railing.

"Don't worry about it, cutie! Weren't you going to bed?" The mass removal of the smoking equipment had ceased, with Bill patting his pockets to check if there was more.

"Wait, so you tossed everything onto the street?" Dipper said, blinking in astonishment and horror. "Dude, you just—! I bet there's a huge mess down there!" It was with a motion to the pavement below, and he folded his arms in discontent. "There's a littering problem as it is, and you made it worse. What if a pigeon chokes on that?"

Bill made a face. "I hope they do! Fuck those rats with wings."

"Pigeons are amazing," he replied, his tone oddly defensive over birds. "I'm going to go clean that up." Injury or no injury, that wasn't stopping him from picking up what he could of the trash to avoid adding to already-persistent pollution.

As he was walking away, Bill was calling after him, "Have you actually  _seen_  a pigeon? They're fucking rodents, cutie– let them die! They deserve it, and the world will be better off without those feathered fiends!"

Rolling his eyes, Dipper said over his shoulder, "You know, a dog could come by and accidentally eat one of those too."

A pause.

"Dogs are  _far_  better than dumbass birds! Why didn't you say so?" Bill demanded, and before he knew it, he was brushing past to beat him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is Sunday, sorry for the wait but thank you for being patient. You are all fantastic. <3


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sexual content.

"This mission's gonna be so  _awesome_ , we're staying in a hotel room and hitting the ammunition stores super-duper early!"

"Please be safe, okay?" Dipper said, separating from the tight embrace shared with Mabel, their hands still interlocked. The thought of letting go stoked the flames of a harrowing fear that singed him with worries for his sister's safety, the persistent anxiety she wouldn't return when the job concluded. Dipper didn't know if it was a result of their immediate circumstances or if it manifested from the traces of trauma inflicted by losing half of his family overnight, unexpectedly and violently. Neither theory was comforting, merely reminders of his fucked up life.

"Of course, Dipper." Mabel squeezed him. "I wish you could come with. I can't believe you pulled your stitches to pick up some cigarettes."

"Yeah, I wish I could too," he sighed, peering at his leg. It'd regressed to healing after he'd dumbly strained it outside with Bill, breaking open the stitches and needing them redone at an absurd hour of the night. Without that incident, he probably could've attended this heist by settling for a minor role, not that robbing a bunch of stores appealed to him. According to Stan, store robberies were the latest status-seeking trend within gang circles, seeing who could hit the most high profile establishments in the shortest amount of time. Maybe that was what Bill was busy doing this evening, he'd left shortly after lunchtime with the mention of freelance work.

"I hope you guys have a good time, and I'll keep things under control here." It was punctuated with a semi-nervous laugh, a rubbing of his arm. He wasn't looking forward to being alone in this place, so dreary and pristine and uncomfortable. "Just take care, seriously. I don't want anything happening to—"

"Mabel, sweetie! We're leavin'! Wendy and Sixer are waiting by the car."

"Sorry, Dipper," she said, "I think that means I have to go, but I'm going to miss you." Mabel initiated another quick hug before she was moving away, heading toward the door with a final wave goodbye. "We'll be fine, I promise! I'll see you soon, okay?"

With the others gone, Dipper struggled to find things to keep his mind off of the fact he was the only one here, acknowledging the rest of the crew wouldn't be back until early tomorrow, and he didn't know when Bill would come in. Having the television on in the background as he sketched was helpful, a sad technique providing the illusion there were more people around, but ultimately it was him in a dark, unwelcoming penthouse.

Times like these revived the yearning to have a phone again, mentally cursing himself for losing it that night. If he hadn't been careless, Bill wouldn't have had to carry him through a whole neighborhood, and he wouldn't feel completely alone this evening. Surfing the Internet contained the isolation as he journeyed down various rabbit holes of casual research, plus he'd be able to keep in contact with Mabel and Bill.

Bored with nothing to do and fearing a restless mind would make his situation harder to cope with, Dipper decided it was in his best interest to sleep early so he could wake up to a brightly lit room instead of this melancholy blue. He grabbed a blanket or two from the sectional sofa and tossed them over himself into a haphazard nest of softness, curling up in it. While he normally would've slept in Bill's bedroom, the television created white noise to replace the utter silence, and the low murmur in the background was comforting instead of distracting.

The aural atmosphere mixed with a self-made blanket fort helped Dipper drift off into a dreamless state of unconsciousness, a heavy sleep surrounding him. The only complaint, it was more temporary than he'd hoped.

The noise of someone walking in had him waking, and he thought he heard a Bill-esque voice ask, "Why the fuck is it so quiet?" Dipper was in a half-conscious daze as he heard him crossing the room and plopping on the other side of the sectional. Forcing his eyes open, his eyelids were drooping at first, blinking away the sleep painfully slowly until the sight of Bill startled him into full awareness. Because it wasn't just Bill. Oh no, it was Bill… partially naked, his boxers and slacks discarded in a pool at his feet. Dipper watched as Bill touched himself, stroking his cock until he began to get hard, and his eyes widened as he realized what it was leading to.

Uh. Well. He didn't know what to do about that.

Coughing to announce his presence, he shuffled a bit in his pile of blankets, trying to make himself more visible without blurting out a lame statement about being here. Almost immediately, Bill noticed him and jumped, pausing to stare at Dipper while he mirrored the expression of surprise. Their eyes met, and… and the moment of awkward never came because Bill resumed, pumping in practiced motions as he smirked at him. "Like what you see, cutie?"

Breath catching, he jolted the rest of the way up. "I, um— didn't know… you'd be doing that. Like I didn't even know if you'd be here tonight, but now I feel like I know way too much about what you do when you don't think anyone else is present." There was a hint of strain to his voice, uncertain of what the proper social protocol was for this. "And as for liking it, I guess? Maybe? It's not  _bad_ , just unexpected, and yeah." It was safe to assume his feelings were unclear and mildly jumbled, made complicated by their relationship's not-so-perfect standing, but he wasn't experiencing discomfort. That was a plus, dare he say progress.

"It's never too late to jack off, cutie. You should join me, have a feel of my cock." He moaned softly, and Dipper stiffened at the bedroom eyes Bill was giving him.

"Okay," he agreed after brief consideration, words sounding thick, "I guess I don't mind helping you. What do you want me to do?" The situation was atypically non-intimate with Bill coming into the penthouse hoping to masturbate. Now Dipper's involvement was minimal, he was a volunteer that Bill could've done without but probably preferred his assistance, which created a strange dynamic. It was weirdly clinical, not as affectionate as what he was accustomed to with them, but that was for the best given the distance in their relationship.  _Mechanical_  seemed to be the most fitting word to describe this interaction. It was a favor instead of an act of passion.

Bill continued to stroke himself, that faint smirk painted across his face. "Come here, doll. Gazing at my  _erectus manius_  from a distance won't do anything for either of us." Obediently, he crossed the sectional to settle beside Bill and let him guide his hand until he was mimicking Bill's prior movements.

Curling his fingers around the length, he steadily increased the pace until it seemed adequate to Bill, whose head was tipped back while a low groan spilled from him. "Sorry if I startled you," he restated as he worked, changing up the technique every once and awhile. "Guess I have a habit of doing that recently, huh? I seriously didn't know you'd be coming in tonight, or…" he made a face at his own double-entendre, "coming shortly after."

"Don't worry about it, cutie," Bill huffed distractedly, not much for conversation since he was preoccupied with arching into his touch. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

Slowing to a stop, he raised an eyebrow at Bill. "You're getting a little demanding." It was challenging to mask his mild amusement, enjoyment derived from the knowledge that it had to be driving the control freak inside of Bill insane— his desire for release couldn't be doing much better at this forced halt of their sexual activities. Bill growled, impatiently thrusting into Dipper's hand himself.

Realizing the loophole, he waited until the right moment to change his tactic from relaxed grip to vice death hold, his fingers forming a tightened ring around the base to prevent him from further movements or finishing. Bill gave one final attempt at a thrust, before he was left angrily whining at Dipper for this betrayal. "Why– why the fuck did you stop, you sadistic fuck…"

"Oh, you wanted to continue?" he asked with feigned innocence. "Okay." It wasn't his intention to cause more frustration than necessary, and he resumed stroking, lowering himself so he was on his stomach and able to swirl his tongue around the tip while his hand boosted the stimulation. It was more than what he'd initially thought he'd do, but it was a treat for being tolerant. Beneath him, Bill shuddered, moaning loudly.

"F-fuck–" he hissed, "you better n-not fucking stop."

While he otherwise may have reassured that he wasn't going to, his mouth was busy with a more important task, and he figured a demonstration would be better received by Bill anyway. The moans crescendoed, Bill's body squirming needily into his touch as his breathing grew heavier. "I'm g-getting close, cutie.."

In response, there was a ragged mumble of 'want you to finish', though probably not quite intelligible to Bill. In hopes of bringing him over the edge, Dipper aimed to make this a nice climax by replacing his hand with his mouth, taking him deeply while avoiding a trigger of his gag reflex.

Bill produced a hitched noise, whining as he thrusted into his mouth. "I wanna finish on your face, sugar."

That had him alert and blinking at Bill, pulling back to shake his head, using his hands to touch and stroke him rather than his mouth. "I would prefer you don't." It sounded unnecessarily difficult to wash off, and receiving a facial didn't seem like it'd be his cup of tea. With a nod toward his hand, he mumbled, "I hope this is okay." Bill didn't respond, thrusting erratically while he pulsed, ejaculating and coating his hand with streaks of white.

Once Bill was winding down from his peak, Dipper raised his palm to make a face at the mess before wiping it away with a few tissues, which were soon balled-up and discarded. Upon returning to the couch, he lingered at the other end to keep some distance between them, looking over the seemingly satisfied Bill. "How was it?"

"Good," he breathed, sprawled atop the cushions without bothering to dress. "Could just crash now."

"Okay. Here or in your actual bedroom?" The former was likely, given the scene before him: Bill splayed lazily, his eyes closing in bliss with a content, sleepy smile on his face. "I… I don't care where you decide. I was wondering, because I'll probably—" well, he was about to say he was going to bed, but he didn't know where that'd be. "I'll stay wherever you are, because it gets quiet here when nobody else is around the penthouse at night." Motioning toward the television, he explained, "That's why I have the television for background noise."

Bill sighed. "Should.. probably go to my room. I don't wanna move, Pine Tree."

"Don't worry, I'll carry you," Dipper muttered sarcastically in reference to the many times Bill would do that for him, an element of their dynamic that he missed. Trying to keep himself in check, he moved off of the sectional sofa to gather Bill's forgotten articles of clothing. No reason to have them lying out here, that would be an odd discussion to have with the other residents.

In the corner of his eye, Bill dragged himself off the couch, stumbling toward his room. "I don't think you can carry me, cutie," he mumbled tiredly. "It'd be funny to see you try."

Collecting the last piece of clothing, Dipper padded after him into the bedroom. "Too heavy from all that muscle?" he teased, almost giddy. It was nice to feel the tiniest amounts of elation over the idea of sleeping together, it'd been a while since they'd last done this, and their time apart was… lonely.

"You betcha, doll." Bill closed the door behind them, looking at Dipper with bright eyes that didn't reflect how fatigued he'd been moments ago. "You should take off your pants and get on the bed."

"Hm? Why?" Dipper tilted his head at the suggestion. "I thought we were going to sleep? It's pretty late, so you don't have to feel guilty about it." It wouldn't have been the first time Bill delved into a ranty protest about how he 'wasn't old' and 'didn't need to sleep early.' Followed by more emphasis on not being old. God, it was laughable how well he knew Bill, and it merely reminded Dipper of how he missed him so much. He missed this. He missed the way they used to be and was terrified it'd never be like that again.

Bill shook his head. "I want to return the favor, cutie. Eat you out. You'll like it."

"Oh," he said through a disappointed exhale, disregarding the part about undressing and instead skipping right to climbing into bed to shuffle under the sheets. "I— okay, look. It's a nice offer, really. But I don't know if I could enjoy it?" Realizing how that could be misconstrued, he went on quickly, "Nothing against your skill because yeah, you're good at… um, that, but I meant… I've been feeling super non-sexy lately, to be honest. Like, I'm regaining the lost weight, and still recovering and stuff."

"Oh, sweetheart," Bill murmured as he stepped over to the bed, and Dipper tensed, watching him. "You're gorgeous, I hope you know that. There's nothing wrong with gaining weight. Everyone's been so worried about you, with how much weight you've lost it's like you're fading away. We don't want to lose you."

The words melted him, it was so different hearing it from Bill than it was from Stan or Ford. Although he knew they cared, their method of reassuring him felt half-hearted and distanced, Bill's… had Dipper flooded with emotion. "Do you actually think I look alright?" he asked, voice shaking as he gazed at himself, hands smoothing over his pajama shirt. "I know I'm almost to my usual weight, and I don't want that to be… less than attractive to you."  _Unappealing_ , though it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Bill smiled, his fingers slowly coming to rest against his side as he joined him on the bed. "I think you look amazing, honey. You're incredibly attractive."

Blushing at the sheer sincerity and a fond tone hardly utilized by Bill, it was so damn nice to hear that. The compliments made him feel alight with joy and encouraged him to tentatively press closer to his boyfriend. "Thanks, I— I want to look good for you, y'know? That's why I was freaked out, and why I can't stop thinking about it, my weight. I don't want you to think of me like that." The ones Bill grouped into that pool weren't his favorites, and he had a habit of slinging nasty remarks at them, looking down on them— an inherent problem to be tackled eventually. Bill nuzzled his neck, drawing him closer.

"I don't think of you like that," he reassured him as he kissed the side of his jawline, and he relaxed under the touch, eyes fluttering closed. It was hard to believe they'd gone more than a week without this. "You're amazing and perfect, and I don't want you to be freaked out by your weight. You look stunning." Gorgeous, stunning, all the praises he hadn't realized he'd been craving to hear, and it brought temporary relief. A twinge of confidence. Dipper wasn't naive, he knew it'd fade and leave him with anxiety over his body, but it'd maybe be a little less after all of these sweet affirmations that sent tendrils of adrenaline coursing through him.

"Kind of weird how we've been in this relationship, and with all the fighting, it's barely felt like we've been boyfriends until now." And  _now_ happened to be incredibly strange timing with certain issues suspended in the air, reaching no real resolution if there even was one except time and commitment. The room was silent, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as Bill lightly began to stroke along his side and hips, using only the tips of his fingers. Opening his eyes, Dipper noticed he was frowning and asked, "Hey, is something wrong?"

Bill glanced at him, continuing the light strokes along his side and hip. "I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain, is all. You never deserved that."

"It's…" it wasn't okay, and he tried to find the appropriate words, "different than I thought it would be, being in a real relationship." Particularly recently, but he was trying to keep his thoughts from that for the moment. "I know you didn't  _mean_ to cause me—  _us_ , pain, and I should've probably been a better partner anyway." As much as he tried to deny it, trusting Bill fully had been a point of contention for both of them, and Dipper couldn't bring himself to do it, to be that vulnerable. One part of him wanted to give a pat on the back because Bill had done something to utterly crush that trust, but the other part reminded him that  _it_ happened over a month ago. Bill had made huge strides in personal improvement and had come clean.

"I don't know how you could've been better," Bill let out a short laugh, his fingers slowly sliding across Dipper's outer thigh, which he exhaled at, wide eyes training to Bill's. "You've been nothing but amazing and patient, understanding, and I've… ruined that. I'm sorry."

"We're supposed to be a team, and it's sort of hard to do that when I.. wasn't exactly completely trusting of you." There were other minor things he'd done: bringing up past events and disagreements, uncalled for snappishness, but the core of the problem had been a committed relationship with someone who he felt wary of. "And now I don't even know where we are. I guess taking it day by day? You know forgiveness probably won't happen," Dipper said with a slight frown, "but I think maybe our relationship will be okay with respect and communication..?" Paving the path for trust to follow, a rebuilding of what they had. It wouldn't be the same, but perhaps it'd be stronger after all was said and done.

Or the foundation would give out and the stress would crush them both under its weight.

Bill shifted, fingers grazing over where his inner thigh began. Electricity going through Dipper, he spread his legs to accommodate the touching, allowing him more room to work. "I know you may not forgive me," he murmured. "I get it." At that, Dipper smiled a little, nuzzling Bill and murmuring a 'thank you', so  _incredibly_ relieved and glad that he understood. "I want to make things work out… you're my favorite person, you know that?"

"I want to make things work too," he said, "that's why I didn't… end it. I guess I could've, and that would've been easy." They wouldn't have to interact aside from on a professional level, and everything could've been put behind them; it was a viable option, one he'd considered briefly, but he knew it wasn't what he wanted. "And as for being your favorite person, well.. I'd hope so, because I mean, you've proposed like five times in three months." That elicited a chuckle from Bill.

"I'd make that six, but you'd reject it." He ran his fingers along Dipper's thigh, going up to his hip, then his side, then made his way down.

Squirming under the featherlight sensation, he bit his lip to swallow a whine for more. If this was Bill's method of ramping up to something sexual, it was definitely having an effect on him. "It's not that I like rejecting you," he said with a small laugh, "but we've known each other for this stupidly tiny frame of time," he held up his hands to emphasize, then cupped Bill's face with it, "and within that, we've had a lot of amazing moments but also some pretty horrible ones, so maybe not the best idea."

Bill nuzzled him, continuing his touches along his sides and thighs to Dipper's delight. "Isn't that what marriage's all about?" he asked, though it was clear by his tone he was joking.

"I'm pretty sure marriage is all about finding someone to spend the rest of your life legally bound to because you're afraid of being alone." There was a knowing, sideways glance at Bill, and he leaned forward to kiss him for only a second. "At least that's what I've heard." Bill's smile faded a little, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I'm  _not_  afraid of being alone," he objected, yet Dipper appeared to be skeptical, able to cite various times in which that seemed to be precisely the case. "What? I'm not!"

Since it wasn't worth Bill getting worked up over, Dipper shrugged and said, "Okay, if you're sure."

Bill looked away from him, fingers grazing his inner thigh, making his thoughts foggy. "Maybe I am a little."

Shocking. Somebody had better get the local media on the line, this was the news of the century. "Mm," Dipper hummed, but wasn't sure if it was in response to his statement or the wonderful touching, "that's fine. It's not a big deal or anything, but a marriage isn't going to be a permanent fix. A relationship with a good friendship behind it and a lot of trust might be." Bill kept a guilty expression on his face, nuzzling close as the touches continued, and Dipper burrowed his face into his shoulder.

"I know," Bill murmured. "I hope it will be." The touches briefly stopped, and Bill separated to reposition himself between Dipper's thighs, which had him sitting up in mild alarm. He was tense as he watched Bill planting kisses along the fabric of his inner thighs, breaking to say, "Should take your clothes off, cutie."

"Just…" Dipper started as he raised his hips, shimmying from the pajama bottoms, "this. There." In his opinion, there was no reason to shed any other item of clothing, and he was feeling unsure about being seen like that, but this arrangement could work.

Pleased, Bill almost instantly dove in, scattering gentle kisses on his thighs at first, trailing to where it met at his pelvis. His kisses grew harsher, a combination of sucking and nipping as he began to leave behind red blotches.

Shivers crawling up his spine, he flopped into the mound of pillows with a light moan. "Bill..?" he murmured, it was questioning, semi-concerned. "Are you sure? I—" It caught on his tongue, the all-too-clear hesitance. The affection was marvelous, but anxiety over his appearance nagged at him, making him question if Bill truly wanted this.

There was a pause between the kisses and bites as Bill regarded him. "Yes, cutie?"

He didn't know what to say, how to express the crushing notion of never being  _good enough_ , but his mind traveled to Bill's earlier statements. Dipper wanted to recall them exactly how they were said. "Did you mean it, the things you told me before?"

"Of course I did, sweetheart. You're amazing, stunning, intoxicating." At that, Dipper's expression softened slightly, the panic lessening when Bill pressed a kiss to his skin.

"Maybe you know by now, but that's why I didn't let you do anything for me," he said quietly. "After you said that thing about bending your fan, I got really self-conscious and decided I would lose weight to be attractive to you and thought after I'd done that, we could resume our usual sex life."

Bill spoke in between kissing and nipping at his thighs. "I know, sugar. And I want you to know you look wonderful, you never needed to lose weight."

"Yeah, I guess I wasn't too subtle about it. I wanted to tell you sooner, but everything was… crazy, that day we talked about it." First the heist had been a rough start, passing out, then being without anyone hadn't been the best adjustment. When the discussion had rolled around, it'd been derailed by… by that. Bill's confession.

"Hey, cutie? What's wrong?"

Distractedly, he asked, "What? I don't know what you mean."

But despite his response, he was wrapped up in his own world and bombarded with cognitions of the incident. Over the past week or so, he'd thought about it a lot. It was constantly lingering in his mind, tainting every interaction he had with Bill and any thought that was remotely related to Bill. It was horrible, the way it had taken over his life. Dipper hated knowing and nearly wished Bill had never said a word because this… colored their entire relationship.

Trust was a far away goal. Reconstructing what they'd lost was a daunting task. Being with Bill was awkward and uncomfortable at times, it was totally foreign.

Thinking about it—what Bill had done and how long he knew without saying a single word—had his stomach twisting in knots. Peering down at him, Dipper seized up: he didn't see his loving boyfriend but rather saw a manipulative, gaslighting abuser. Squeezing his eyes shut, he squirmed away from the touches since they were no longer relaxing, they were uncomfortable reminders of how oblivious he'd been, how  _Bill_ happily let him believe he was the one who'd fucked up. Bill who knew what horrible thing he'd done and was content to live with that, Bill who'd chosen to drug him willingly.

"I think— you have to stop," he said, opening his eyes to a confused Bill, "please. I can't do this." Bill withdrew from him, staring with a puzzled expression.

"Are you okay…?"

"N-no," he breathed. In the next moment, he was reaching for his pajamas and putting them on in a hurry, trying to avoid tearing up, wishing he could escape the thoughts of panic that told him it would  _never get better_. This was what they'd become, two broken pieces unable to fit together. "I was thinking about that night and what you said and about how you drugged me, and I just… can't." Bill backed away from him, a quiet 'oh' falling from his lips as he reached to grab his own boxers, sliding them on.

Bill looked at him, a sobered expression on his face. "Is.. there anything you'd like me to do?"

"Could we, I don't know… cuddle for a bit?" It probably sounded like a foolish request, and he internally berated himself over asking for that, for being the cause of this mess. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah." To his relief, Bill joined him on the bed, wrapping his arms around him tightly, and Dipper curled into his boyfriend.

"I can't get the thought of you… drugging me out of my head. It's been bothering me for a while, but I guess sometimes it's worse." It came and went, the uneasiness that accompanied the knowledge of Bill slipping him ketamine, then not saying a single word about it until about a week ago.

Bill sighed, and a subsequent inhale made Dipper wonder if he was breathing in his scent. "I'm really sorry, sweetie. I promise I won't… ever do that shit again. I shouldn't have done it to begin with."

"I'm so,  _so_ terrified that you will because you'll trick yourself into thinking it's justified or different somehow, like you did last time." Dipper paused, taking a shuddering breath as he tried to rid himself of the feeling of… grossness that'd swept over him, it made him want to shower away the negativity, but he knew that it ran deeper than skin.

"I don't know if I've said this, but I'm glad you told me." And he was more grateful for Bill's patience with this, not pressuring him into forgiveness but being by his side, helping him through the hurt and pain and broken trust while not expecting anything in return. It was an endearing sign of maturity over the situation, and it served as a small reassurance that Bill was being honest when he said it wouldn't be an issue. "I wish it hadn't happened at all."

"I do too," Bill admitted. "I kind of hate myself, putting you through that. You've always deserved more, and… I'm glad you're safe now."

"Don't hate yourself," he said with a sigh, tempted to nip at Bill's skin but opting for a kiss. "It's not something you should beat yourself up over. Not that it wasn't… really horrible," a shudder passed through him as he recalled the night coupled with his recently-acquired awareness of the situation, "but it's not going to happen in the future, so I guess we should focus more on trying to figure out how to be together in a healthy relationship. "

Bill pressed against him, squeezing gently, and Dipper asked, "It's not me, right? Things do feel… different?" Bill was quiet for a moment, releasing another sigh into his neck.

"A little. It's been weird."

"Yeah, it has." Dipper didn't know what to do, if anything should be done or if it would dissolve on its own with time as they healed from the experience. If there was a magical fix, he had no idea where to start.

Bill pressed his lips to the back of his neck. "Are you doing okay, cutie?"

"Better, I guess," he reported. "Not quite okay." It would be some time before he was 'okay', free of physical and mental wounds. Dipper remembered this feeling: when his parents had first been killed, it was as if nothing would be okay again, but gradually his life had smoothed out. The grief was there, always clinging somewhere, but it was reduced now, not quite the sharp, brutal sting that it used to be. It had faded, and this probably would too. Appreciatively, he kissed Bill's cheek with a soft, "Thanks."

"Thanks?" he was echoed questioningly as Bill peered at him. "I don't really know what I did, cutie."

"For being with me, staying here." An awkward, self-conscious cough broke the tender confession. "Not getting upset." How Bill had acted not only tonight but throughout all of this had been reassuring, he wasn't sure what he would've done if he'd struck up the entitlement act and had been a jerk about everything. "Being alright with this taking time."

"Oh," he shifted to kiss his nose. "You don't need to thank me, cutie. That's… what a good boyfriend should've been doing since the beginning, being supportive."

Not quite understanding what Bill meant, Dipper murmured, "You were, though? You didn't try to get me to talk to you, and you kept to your promise about giving me time to think about this." They'd had space, and… it helped, Bill hadn't pressured him to reconnect faster than when he was finally ready to.

Bill faintly chuckled. "Not quite what I was referring to, sweetheart." Stumped by that, Dipper made a soft 'hm?' noise and pulled away, smiling as he saw Bill's now-messy hair. Unable to resist fluffing it further, he playfully threaded a few fingers through the blond strands. "If you keep this up, you're going to make me look like a stupid seagull flock."

"It's called the 'flock of seagulls', Bill, and I'm not going to make you relive your high school days." He struggled to contain a gentle laugh. "You were a high schooler in the eighties, right?" Bill looked offended by that, and he frowned. "I'm kidding. It's… not important. Sorry." Ugh, that was a painful reminder of where their relationship was, how strained things were between them despite feeling calm on the surface-level. They'd lost the closeness, and Dipper very clearly recalled the way Bill used to be offended at every comment before they'd been friends with benefits.

"If I were a high schooler in the eighties, I'd be older than your dad! I'm not that old."

Wincing, he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess you would be. ..How do you know about that?"

Bill shrugged. "The guy was a politician, his information was public. Everyone who wanted to know could find it on his Wiki page."

"Right." It was surreal, but true, and he didn't know what else to say about the matter. It was nice that they'd been able to move on from the teasing jab without an argument ensuing as one would've in the past, but this…  _the awkwardness_ , this wasn't comfortable either. Clearing his throat and averting his gaze, he settled in beside Bill with an abortive statement, "Okay… well, um, good talk." It immediately betrayed how tense the silence was, or at least how he perceived it to be, and he wasn't quite sure how to recover from it when things were rocky between them.

"Good talk…?" Bill gazed at him, frowning, then shifted to wrap closer. Or would have, if that'd been possible given the already-minimal space separating their bodies. "Hey, cutie?"

Miserably, he mumbled into his shoulder, "Yeah?"

There was some hesitation before he continued. "Are.. you okay? Did I do something wrong?" The question made his heart hurt because an irrational side of him wanted to blame Bill for this, everything. An initial bad decision leading to more bad decisions were why this terrible situation was seeded into reality.

"I don't know. It's… hard to describe, but you didn't do anything wrong." Right now anyway, an internal voice mocked and made his insides turn cold. "I was reminded of that first month together, and everything… set you off. It felt like that. It's like we've backtracked on so much progress and can't figure out how to regain it."

Bill grew quiet, shifting beside him. "I didn't think that would cause an issue? I'm assuming you're referring to my reaction over being called old," he was rambling tersely, "but I didn't care. I'm sorry."

"It's not an issue," he said quickly. "Let's drop it unless you wanted to talk more." But to Dipper, there was nothing left to say. In the future, he'd choose his words carefully and try to be considerate of how they weren't as close anymore and would have to build up to that level. The response he received was a frown, but Bill didn't press the subject.

"We should see if we can get some sleep," he mumbled, the defeat weighing on the words. Dipper nodded his agreement, closing his eyes. "It's pretty late, Pine Tree."

"Yeah, goodnight," he responded unceremoniously, shuffling further under the sheets and wriggling until he was in a position comfortable enough to sleep.

* * *

It'd been a long day for Bill, having spent most of it doing freelance work void of contact with Dipper. He was exhausted, wanting to curl up on his couch and sleep for a year. Maybe join Dipper in his bedroom, if he was invited to, since he wasn't sure where he'd stand on the matter this evening. It flipped occasionally when Dipper was feeling understandably disgusted by him, his sole presence raising anxiety.

As he entered the penthouse, he was almost instantly greeted by the sight of Dipper, then the majority of the crew on the sectional as Netflix played in front of them. Wendy, Mabel, Soos… but no Stan and Ford. "Well, there goes sleeping."

"Oh, you're here!" Dipper said, eyes brightening as they landed on him, and he was squirming from his cuddles with Mabel to greet him by means of a shy hug at the door. It was intended to be a kiss from the way he leaned in, but the falter suggested he'd chickened out in front of the others, a red hue tinting his cheeks. "I missed you," he said through a murmur, holding the embrace. "It's weird not being able to text while you're gone, so I never know when you'll come home." Yeah, Bill was torn on whether or not he liked that. It sure as hell was handy since he couldn't sic the crew on him when he was Owl Mask, but it also left them vulnerable, like when Dipper was bleeding on the pavement, and Bill thought that was the end. No chance of calling for help.

"I missed you too, Pine Tree," he mumbled. "We'll get you a phone soon, okay?"

"Good, I didn't want to resort to writing letters," he said with a nervous laugh, backing off to tug on the collar of his plaid shirt. The movement of his eye-darting suggested the spectators on the sectional sofa had something to do with his behavior, though they didn't seem too interested while Netflix demanded their attention.

Bill couldn't help but laugh at his response, finding enjoyment in how awkward he seemed, more so when he looked at him in surprise for being amused. "I guess you're not as old-fashioned as you'd have us believe, cutie."

Quirking an eyebrow, he pointed to himself in disbelief and inquired, "You think I'm old-fashioned? I don't know how to feel about that."

"Old-fashioned as can be, Ms. Tight-Legs." His tone was clearly teasing, playful. He didn't care if Dipper was one of the people who wanted to wait to bone, he just deemed it funny.

That earned him a light smack in the shoulder. "It's not like I think the  _power of God_ ," that was pointedly directed at him, "is going to strike me down if we have sex that involves… uh, penetration." Dipper rolled his eyes, but there was a playful glint resting in them. "So  _sorry_ for having personal problems that I need to work out before I let you shove— that in me."

Bill snickered, reaching to rub Dipper's stomach gently. "Seems like you're PMSing again, doll. Here, this should help."

Stepping from his reach, he frowned and averted his gaze, arm gettin' the old rub down. Bill wasn't sure where he went wrong. With a cough, he said, "Not a woman, remember? I… I don't mind if you were joking, but if you're struggling with that, we can try to work on it?" Dipper shifted his weight, visibly uncomfortable but keeping his voice lowered. "Maybe talk it out this time instead of almost driving off a cliff."

Oh.

Bill thought it'd been clear he wasn't serious, but that didn't seem to be the case.

"I was joking," he confirmed quietly, tensing a little. There it was– the flare of guilt, the feeling he'd done something wrong and now Dipper would want to leave him, a serious worry that the crevices of his mind housed and never let him forget about. "Sorry."

Dismissing it with a hand and beginning to walk toward the others on the sofa, Dipper said, "No, it's…. it's fine, don't worry about it. Are you going to watch Netflix with us?" Bill wasn't sure he wanted to, not when it felt like every little thing he did was a mistake, like somehow he'd discover another way to hurt Dipper. He didn't want that.

But, he relented with the hope things would turn out better than he believed they would. "Okay."

There was a pause. "So… you're going to watch from over there?" Dipper asked quizzically, bringing attention to the fact he hadn't moved from the doorway. Bill swore there was a mutter of "and I thought I was awkward" under his breath as Dipper approached him and took his hand, leading him to the sofa so they could sit down with the rest of the crew.

Taking a seat, he moved to slowly put his arm around Dipper, hesitant. Would Dipper even like this? Would he be okay with this? It seemed he was alright since he didn't escape from the touch.

"Amazing," he said blandly. "I don't understand what I'm looking at." The screen in front of him consisted of a man splattered with blood, and a flying blue unicorn dragon thing. It was a bad attempt at CGI if he ever saw one.

Dipper's shoulders lifted in a shrug, tucking his legs beneath him to scoot closer and lean into his body. "Uh… Netflix meets bad shroom trip? I don't know, honestly. I've been busy drawing, so I guess you'll have to ask them." With that, he indicated toward the rest of the movie-watchers. "Hey, Mabel, what's this movie about?"

"I don't remember," she chirped. "But this guy is  _killing_  it!"

Soos explained, "It's a dramatic tale about a man finding his little girl, and he's seeing her imaginary friend as he murders people." Interesting. Not. Bill wanted  _BoJack Horseman_. Where was that when he wanted it? It'd be better than this dumb movie.

"Can we change it to something better?" Anything would do if he couldn't get  _BoJack Horseman_. Mabel glanced at him, before she slid the controller out of his reach.

"I'm keeping it where it's at." There was a sudden tenseness in the air at her cold statement that left no room for argument, and Dipper cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the obvious distance between him and Mabel. What was he expecting, them to hold hands and frolic in the flowers with Pine Tree in the middle? Shooting Star had outright accused him of being abusive, and it hurt like  _hell_ because he deserved it. It'd cut him deep.

" _Okay_ , well, that… happened," Dipper said, ruffling his hair and making an obvious attempt to continue with the conversation before it fell further into awkwardness. "So, are we good to just watch the movie until Stan and Ford get here?"

Bill almost wanted to get up and turn the TV off himself to spite Mabel, but he'd behave well solely for Dipper. "Where are they, anyway? I noticed they weren't fucking around with you guys." He could hear Wendy and Mabel speak, but he ignored them– all he cared about was what Dipper said. "Pine Tree?"

"Hm?" he hummed, tilting his head. It was intriguing how quickly and frequently Dipper's daydreams coaxed him from reality, Bill didn't have to be told to know that was what he'd been doing in the seconds their conversation died down. "Oh, pretty much what they said."

"I wasn't paying attention to them, cutie."

Blinking, he questioned, "Why not?" It didn't seem like he was being obtuse about the matter but genuinely didn't understand why he hadn't been listening. It seemed the nervous habits had arrived as Dipper's fingers started drumming on his pants, the spot above his knee."I don't see why it has to come from me specifically."

Well, that was probably because he didn't like Shooting Star right now, and he was still struggling to forgive Red for her ...false crimes. "I wanted to hear it from you." Honestly, he'd rather be alone with his Pine Tree.

"Um, okay," he said, shifting his weight as he took a glance around the room, but it seemed the others were devoting their focus to the television screen. "Soos and Wendy are waiting around for Stan and Ford to arrive. I guess they asked them to come here for a crew meeting, but they left earlier and haven't shown yet. We're passing the time with an impromptu movie night."

"Did they have to pick such a shitty movie to watch?" Bill murmured to him. There was nothing about the movie that sounded remotely good, and he couldn't grasp why Mabel would have everyone suffer through this hell, like this was a last resort of what to watch. Maybe she knew he'd be coming tonight.

"You don't  _have_ to watch it," he reminded him. "That's why I've been doing other things, like drawing," he nodded toward the sketchbook, "and tidying up around here so they don't return to a messy penthouse. We've mostly been talking the whole time anyway, I don't think anyone is attached to the plotline."

From across the sectional, Bill could hear Soos laugh suddenly, and his attention diverted to him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two were dating!" Another chuckle, this time worried. "..You're not, are you dudes?"

"Why do you care?" Bill challenged him. "We're… heterosexual life partners, take a hike." He wished he could be alone with his Dipper. It was tempting to safeword, to sneak out of this situation so he could cuddle him. Unless Dipper didn't want to.

Wendy snorted, but she didn't drag her eyes from the TV. "That's cute, the heterosexual life partners thing. So let's get to the real question: when should we expect to be at your completely heterosexual wedding?"

"We're not engaged," Dipper sputtered, voice raised. Bill knew the kid's mind had to be reeling, maybe he secretly liked the thought of making their binding a legal one and was flustered by it. "So, never?" Or not.

"That's cold," Wendy commented with an amused glance at him before she was turning away. "Saying Bill isn't marriage material right in front of him like that."

"Hey!" Bill snapped, a little defensive. "Fuck you, I'm the definition of marriage material, unlike  _you_." That selfish bitch, he knew she had nothing to lose from this and he had  _everything_  when he was trying to remain well behaved. He wanted to keep his Pine Tree, he didn't want to lose him, but he could feel him tensing up, his breath sharper. It was undoubtedly the beginnings of anxiety creeping in.

Unfrazzled, Wendy looked like she was going to respond, but Mabel shook her head, lips curved downward while she mumbled something about "overreacting."

Dipper groaned, pulling away from him to flop against the sofa in defeat, staring exasperatedly at the ceiling as he threw his hands up. "Can we please not fight? It's been like, five minutes of being in the same room together, and it's already going to hell."

Shit, shit. He hated that, how strained Dipper sounded, how close it seemed to everything crumbling apart. He couldn't lose him because of that soulless whore, because she was cruel, heartless, paired with his vengeful sister. "Pine Tree," he murmured. "Can… we…" fuck, what was the word, "..rhubarb?"

When he sat up in alarm, his eyes were huge and wild and… puzzled, then it seemed to occur to him. "Are you— oh, uh, okay. Alright, we can…" he tapered off with a vague hand gesture, unsure of himself as he scanned the room, "I don't know. Do you want to leave?" There was a longing in his gaze that suggested it was exactly what Dipper wanted as well.

"Yes." Bill's voice was a mere breath, wanting to be freed from the torment that was Red and Shooting Star, wanting to be alone with his Pine Tree, to make sure he didn't hate him, wasn't upset over him snapping back.

While Dipper was rising to his feet with Bill following eagerly, he could hear from the sofa, "Where are we on the whole Bill and Dipper thing?" Soos made a scale with his hands, tipping them in each direction as he mused, "Dating, not dating?"

"They're dating," Mabel's voice confirmed, sounding slightly sad. Bill couldn't hear with abundant clarity, but he was pretty sure that was followed by, "I hope Dipper is careful."

The walk to the car was thankfully short, and Bill was happy to throw it in reverse and get the hell out of there. Safely, that was– the last thing he needed was to stress his Pine Tree with reckless driving. He didn't want to lose him.

Dipper's question broke the silence. "Do you think Stan and Ford will call you when they're at the penthouse? I'm glad we're out of there, but I don't want to miss the meeting if it's something important." Bill could understand the skepticism when last week's was fifteen minutes of Stan demonstrating how he could fit multiple jelly doughnuts into his mouth.

Bill didn't really care, if it was that important Stan and Ford would've been there hours in advance. "It's probably not important, cutie. They'll call if I'm wrong."

"Okay." Then there was a pause, Dipper's breath hitching and in his peripherals, he could see his fingers twitching on his lap. "So," he started, "you safeworded." The blunt statement was undoubtedly a question in disguise, Dipper's method of indirectly asking him why he'd done it, what went wrong.

"I did." Bill went quiet for another moment, trying to collect his thoughts into something he could spill to Dipper. "I got… overwhelmed, I guess." Because of Wendy and Mabel, because he snapped under the pressure, resorted to rash behavior, and thought Dipper would hate him.

"Overwhelmed?" Dipper repeated, as if playing with the word, then humming as he considered it. "I thought you loved being the center of attention and would be the center of the universe if you could. Are you going to be okay later? We can't stay out forever." If only it were simple, the mere issue being the center of attention. It was more than that.

"I.." he swallowed, "I don't want to be around those two right now." A part of him knew Wendy didn't mean harm, but Mabel was a completely different story. It felt like she was trying to derail their relationship, to ruin what little they had left. It was stemming from a place of paranoia, but he couldn't afford the risk when Dipper was the best thing that'd happened to him.

"I thought it was going better with Wendy? You two haven't been fighting recently," he said but shrugged. "As for Mabel… uh, I guess she's worried about me, and I don't really think that's unreasonable after knowing some of the stuff that's happened with us. She took a step back and doesn't want to get involved since we talked that night, she knows she kind of crossed a line there. But yeah, it's… she— there's some concern that our relationship is abusive, and she wants me to be safe."

Somehow, Mabel still thinking he was abusive wasn't helping him, and Bill fought the urge to sob as his eyes watered. Fuck, he wasn't ready for this– he should've left the room without a word.

Clearing his throat, he heard Dipper readjusting on the seat, tugging the ends of his shirt down. The fidgeting was probably a side effect of the uncomfortable silence, but Bill couldn't bring himself to speak, afraid his voice would give away his emotional state. When it seemed Dipper took the hint that it wasn't going to happen, he went on, "In a month, we're going to check in with each other and see how it's going. Maybe I'll be able to help her understand that our dynamic isn't… abusive. It's sort of rough," he paused to sigh, "but you're not controlling or manipulating me, or doing things an abuser would do. I thought it was getting better." Was it getting better? Bill had thought so, but it was hard to tell when his flaws were thrown in his face, when Wendy told him he wasn't marriage material, when Mabel said he was overreacting…

It hurt, it was like a wound that kept reopening, and all he wanted to do was mend it so he could be a better partner to his Pine Tree. "I'm sorry," he whispered, aware of the stream of tears that ran down his face but ignoring it.

The worry in his voice was palpable as he tried to be soothing, "Hey, it's okay." More fidgeting, another cough. "I know you're working on it, and if I actually thought you were abusive, this relationship wouldn't be happening right now. But… you're not. You're pretty sweet to me most of the time, though Mabel doesn't get to see that side of us." She might not, but it sure felt like she did sometimes when she considered herself the relationship authority.

"Pine Tree," his voice was low, shaking, a broken murmur. "I.. I don't deserve you." It was hard to process that… Dipper didn't believe he was as horrible as Mabel had called him, that he wasn't a lost cause.

Dipper was quiet for a few moments, and Bill wondered what he was thinking about, if he was contemplating the feasibility of leaving him because it was true. He could do better. "You keep saying that, and I still don't think it's healthy to think of us that way. Instead of seeing our relationship as something you don't deserve, shouldn't your focus be on making yourself the person you think I 'deserve', I guess?"

"I'm trying," he murmured. "It's.. difficult. I want to be better." So badly, he was tired of fighting his Pine Tree, of hurting him, of making him hate him. He wished telling him he loved him was easier.

Dipper nodded. "Yeah, I thought you were doing a good job of it. We're hundreds of times better than we used to be, so that's progress." Bill wanted to cry, feeling overwhelmed once more– but this time, it was relief, relief that Dipper didn't hate him, that they weren't as on horrible terms as he feared.

He had hardly been devoting focus to the road beyond ensuring they were abiding by traffic laws, driving on autopilot, until he pulled into the parking lot of their coffee spot.

"Do.. you want your usual?"

"Oh, this is where you were taking us? I wasn't paying attention," he admitted, running a hand through his hair and leaving the strands out of place. "Yeah, I'll have my normal one." There was a restless tapping on the console, a pattering that signaled there was something on Dipper's mind, and it brought Bill to the state of unfathomable concern, that dark irrationality telling him this was the verge of a breakup. He was going to lose Dipper because he'd made too many mistakes he couldn't take back—

"I know a coffee shop drive-thru isn't the best place to have this discussion," Bill felt frozen as Dipper spoke, "but have you been doing okay lately? You've been sort of… sad. Like, really anxious, and it's concerning."

"I've been.. worried," he murmured. "Uneasy. I'm trying to behave." Because he didn't want Dipper to be tired of him, to leave him. Although Dipper had been about to respond, Bill put up a hand to stop him. "Hold on." Pulling into the drive thru, there was a moment of silence before they were greeted and Bill placed their order, getting their total before pulling forward. "Okay, kid, go for it."

"Okay," he said once the orders were placed, "it's not that I don't appreciate what you're doing. Not... the coffees, but I mean trying to be behave? That's nice and everything, but it's also been weird for you. You're never like that, and I kind of just want you to feel comfortable enough to be yourself with me." Oh, but Dipper couldn't want that, could he? He was an asshole, a fucking manipulative dick, someone who'd only hurt him.

Pulling forward as the vehicle in front of them moved, he shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

That brought a frown to his pretty face. Once again, his fingers were active on the console, filling the air with that insistent tapping, an added part of the pop music symphony. "...Why do you think you're going to hurt me?"

"That's all I've ever done." Repeatedly. It didn't matter how hard he tried, it always ended in pain.

"That's why you're working on it?" Dipper said, pausing in the tapping to speak. "But honestly, you did more than hurt me. Sure, we hurt each other on occasion, but we had so many great times when we didn't. It feels like we're getting better at communicating, so those horrible times aren't as common and if they do happen, we know how to resolve it. I don't know if that makes sense, it's probably stupid..."

Bill wanted to believe him, he knew they had some great moments– but those would be nothing but painful memories if Dipper left him, because Bill was.. overreactive, abusive, cruel. Now at the window, he paid and took their drinks, passing Dipper's cup over. "Okay." He wasn't sure what else to say, it didn't feel like anything beyond the fear he'd drive Dipper off. "Hey, Pine Tree?"

His response was an idle "what's up?" as he busied himself with the mug, swirling the liquid in it to mix the iced coffee with the flavoring syrup.

"You're sweet," he murmured, catching Dipper's attention and seeing his face brighten at the compliment. "Almost as sweet as that coffee of yours. I…" he hesitated as he pulled out of the drive thru. He wanted to tell him he loved this, he loved him, but how could he? Would Dipper feel the same anymore?

The warmth of Dipper's features faded at his hesitance as his eyes narrowed in confusion and thought, his head tilting to a side. Then, he blinked, and before Bill could say anything, he awkwardly cut in with, "It's not  _that_ sweet this time.. Probably would've been sweeter with whole milk, but— uh, I appreciate the sentiment." Motioning toward his coffee, Dipper said, "I don't know how you can drink that."

"I feel the same," Bill managed to chuckle, opting to move away from the failed attempt at confessing his love. No, he needed to find a better way to do it. A grand gesture. "I can't stand sugar or milk in my coffee, cutie. It ruins the strength of the brew."

"Gross," he replied simply, lowering his gaze and his body, leaning against the passenger door. It was a familiar pose, and reminded them of their many outings like this; long talks in the car as he drove around the city, enjoying Dipper's company as they gazed at the stars and quietly partook in the nightlife. Bill was met with the intense urge to lift his wave of hair and see his gorgeous birthmark, revel in how he was born with stars. It was a tiny detail he missed about their comfort with one another since Dipper didn't let him see it without fussing. "But about what we were saying earlier, I want you to be yourself. It's not  _you_ if you're forcing your appearance to be someone that you think I'll want to be with."

Bill's smile began to fade as they returned to that subject. "If I'm out of line, will you call me out on it?" He needed to know. If Dipper wanted him to be like… that, he needed to know he'd be on the lookout for bad behavior.

"Hm, I don't know, that seems kind of hard..." but his words were sarcastic and dry, and a glance in his direction brought Dipper's quizzical expression into view. "Oh, wait, you mean like what I've been doing for the whole time we've known each other? Yeah, I guess I could handle that."

"You haven't always," he gently reminded him, the beginnings of discontent growing on his face. "Not about the weight stuff, if I hadn't been a dick it wouldn't have been an issue." There was a moment of distress as Dipper stared down at himself, smoothing over his shirt, then the reality of what he'd said seemed to sink in. It was followed by a sheepish cough.

"That was different," he protested, but Bill wasn't buying it. "What you said wasn't that dick-ish. It was kind of blunt for basically telling me I looked fat, but you weren't being a  _total_  dick about it. I was the one who took it too far with feeling self-conscious and wanting to look good for you, that was sort of on me, and I should have taken better care of myself. It's not your job to make sure I eat and stay healthy, you said it yourself." Bill didn't know how to reply to that, but he knew he didn't agree. If it weren't for him, Dipper wouldn't have been insecure, he wouldn't have starved himself, he wouldn't have almost died.

"Pine Tree," he began, "please tell me you'll do it for everything."

"Okay," Dipper complied after a second, "the whole truth it is from this point on in our relationship. That's not an excuse to be a dick, but I'll tell you if something—anything—is bothering me, and I'm going to expect you'll do the same." There was a pause. "So, uh, complete disclosure. I kind of have to pee right now after drinking half of this coffee."

"Do you want me to pull over?" The coffee shop was miles off now, and there weren't many ideal stores for Dipper to go into. "You can water the grass on the side of the road."

Dipper's nose scrunched up in distaste at his plan. "Oh my god, no." From how his frame shook, Bill deduced a shudder was passing through his body. Wow, he was revolted by the idea. "We don't need to pull over, I can wait until we're back." Oh, speaking of which, they should probably find out how that meeting went.

"Hold on, doll, I need to call Stan." The guy would be happy to debrief him in the most boring way possible, and if it didn't sound important, Bill would hang up on him. He pulled out his phone, quickly finding Stan in his contacts and tapping to dial. "Hey Stan," he didn't give him a chance to speak once the ringing stopped and he answered, "how'd the meeting go?"

There was distant chatter on the other side of the line, then a very not-Stan voice greeted, "Hello? What is it, Cipher?" Ah, his second favorite nerd. Wonderful.

"Was Stan too busy trying to get his dick in you that he couldn't answer?" Bill inquired solely to antagonize. "I wanted to know how the meeting went at the penthouse."

"Excuse me? Why would he be putting that aspect of his anatomy—?" it ended with a signature disgusted sigh, and Bill could picture Ford pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The meeting has yet to commence. We've been stuck on the side of the road having  _car trouble_  because Stanley has failed to understand the basics of proper vehicle care." The last phrase was said a bit too loudly, leading Bill to believe he was giving his brother a pointed look as he talked, only to have his suspicions confirmed when there was an equally displeased (albeit unintelligible) remark from Stan.

Their car was having issues? There was something deliciously ironic about that, how they had spent years mocking his choice in vehicles, saying  _they'd_  break down, and now fate had selected them as its victims. Bill couldn't contain his burst of laughter. "That's  _hilarious_!"

Ford offered a stony correction, "No, it's exceedingly irritating when we have business to attend to."

"How is it not?" Bill demanded between his laughter. "You're stranded after years of telling me it'd be me. That's fucking funny."

Appearing alarmed and interested in the conversation, Dipper asked softly, "What's going on? Is Stan okay?"

His question was nearly drowned out by the sound of Ford's groan. "Cipher, if you're going to do nothing but laugh at our situation, I'm ending this call."

Bill glanced at Dipper, some of his cheer fading at Dipper's concern of Stan. "He's fine, their car just broke down. It's pretty damn funny, isn't it?" How wasn't it? Ford was a killjoy, and as if he was determined to prove it, there was a grumpy announcement of "I'm hanging up" on the other side of the line.

"I don't know? Sounds stressful."

"What do you want me to do about it? Rescue those sad old men?" It wasn't something he wanted to do, unless he could rub his victory in their stupid faces.

Looking conflicted, Dipper shrugged and returned to drinking his coffee as he stared out the passenger window. God dammit. Now he had to be the better person in this situation and come to their aid. He shouldn't have brought it up.

Redialing Stan's phone, he waited for one of them to pick up. "Where are you?" he demanded. Oh, he'd make fun of them for sure over this, wouldn't miss a golden opportunity when it stared him in the eye. The good eye, not that horrible dichromatic one. "I'll collect your sorry asses."

"We're…" Stan's voice came through, thank the stars. "On the corner of Davis Avenue and Dutch London Street." That was by the sports arena. What were they doing that far south?

"Stay put," Bill muttered as he hung up, deciding he didn't care for further details. The drive was quite a distance away, and he was annoyed with them already. Dumb fuckers.

"So we're picking them up?" Dipper deduced, a splash of relief on his face. "That was nice to offer, but I guess not unexpected with you being a gentleman and all." There was a sly edge, a hint of teasing in the words. He  _was_  a gentleman, and he was also going to give Stan and Ford hell over this.

"I can't believe they're by the port," he said to him as he used a dead parking lot to turn around. "They better have a good reason for being down there, Pine Tree, because I'm not opposed to leaving them stranded."

There was a small snicker beside him. "Aaand there went the gentleman thing."

Thankfully, the drive to their location wasn't as painful as Bill expected, and the two dumbasses in distress clambered into his car. Stan had tried to uproot Dipper from the passenger, but that had been a firm no– Dipper was  _his_  and Bill wasn't going to let him be kicked around by Stan. Besides, it was kind of humorous watching Dipper snap at Stan to back off when he'd tried to claim it was his on the basis of being the gang leader.

This was good. The power couple was together again, not taking shit from Stan and his 'authority.' Didn't matter, it would soon be theirs.

Now, they were heading to the penthouse, and he couldn't help but be amused at the sight of Stan pouting in the rearview mirror. Dipper craned his neck to see the backseat, but then thought better of it and simply peered at them through the mirrors as he asked, "What were you guys doing over here anyway?"

"We were doing recon," Stan grumbled in response. "We got someone who's interested in a package comin' in from the port, and we wanted to see what we'd be up against before we agreed to do the job. But the meetin' at the penthouse ain't about that, we have bigger plans."

"Bigger plans?" he questioned, and Bill saw Ford adjusting his glasses in the mirror. Oh stars, someone had better get his ears ready because here came the pretentious explanation.

"We've been considering a bank heist, Dipper," Ford said, his chest puffing like one of those lame owls that he admired so deeply. "We've finally acquired enough people to make it plausible. It's entered the planning stages, and we are going to share our general concept with the rest of the crew this evening."

"It's one in the morning," he mumbled flatly. "I'm pretty sure they're all asleep unless they found something good to watch on Netflix for the last hour." Bill chuckled at that, enjoying Dipper's shared distaste for Mabel's shitty choice of a movie.

While he generally didn't care for Ford's pretentious attitude or his ideas, he liked the concept of the bank heist, a job more useful than he'd originally thought. It'd need some consideration, he'd have to assist in the planning of the heist, but the potential for a coup was there. This could work to his advantage.

Still, he couldn't bring suspicion to himself, and to the brothers he said: "Surprised you're plotting a heist when you can't even schedule a car check-up with a technician."

"Jesus Christ," Dipper said with mock exasperation, trying to bite down a laugh. "Don't be an ass."

"Our personal mechanic has been unavailable this week," Ford responded matter-of-factly, "and we had no reason to believe the engine would encounter fatal difficulties."

"That means you need to have it looked at sooner," Bill responded coolly, stifling a laugh. "Seriously. If you had it checked a couple months ago, it would've been fine."

"Are ya saying I don't take care of my cars?" Stan barked at him angrily, and Bill should have known he wouldn't pass up a chance to defend one of the vehicles that he basically considered his children. Maybe it was unrelated to attachment and was because they were both as old as the damn dirt too. "My cars are in better condition than yours!"

Under his breath, Ford pointed out, "We  _do_ have a vehicle pushed into the ditch awaiting a towing service. So given the circumstances,  _Stanley_ , I don't believe he's complimenting your ability to take care of vehicles."

"Who's side are ya on, Ford?! Fuck off!" Stan growled, looking away. Bill couldn't help it– he burst into laughter again, and Dipper muffled his laughs with his arm.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive about it," Ford said to Stan with a roll of his eyes. "Do you expect me to pretend you'd stepped in, conquered the situation, and now it's three hours ago that we returned to the penthouse and conducted the meeting?"

"Yes!" Stan snapped, but Bill was concerned by the new information. They waited around for three hours? What the fuck?

"Why the hell did you wait around for three hours?"

"Why don't you ask Stanley 'Just-Ten-More-Minutes-I-Can-Fix-It' Pi-" Ford cut off, then gracefully corrected himself, "Forrester." Forrester.  _Forrester_. He had to be fucking kidding him. Why didn't they just cut to the chase and tell Dipper the truth, especially now that his joining was solidified, albeit not quite official? It'd make everyone's life so much easier.

With a glance at the brothers, he prompted Ford: "What was that, Fordsy?" His gaze shifted from Ford to Dipper, who looked peacefully oblivious as he sipped his coffee and watched the scenery. If the kid wasn't such a daydreamer, he'd probably have the clues to piece it together. Oh, that'd be funny, witnessing the confrontation with Stan over his history. Chaotic and uncomfortable, exactly how he liked it.

"What was what, Cipher?" This time, it was tense and harsh. They both knew, and Ford was challenging him, trying to warn him not to stray down this path. But that would be too easy.

"Oh, it sounded like you had a new little pet name for Fez,  _Stanford Forrester_." The snicker was inevitable.

"I thought it was quite appropriate  _under the circumstances_ ," he said through his teeth with his eyes briefly darting to Dipper, "since Stan was insistent on staying much longer than necessary to decide the problem couldn't be fixed without the assistance of a professional."

This was fucking stupid and ridiculous, but Bill still thought it was hilarious as shit. "Alright, if we're doing  _that_ …" he waited until it seemed the brothers' attention was on him, "Mason Evergreen, how's your coffee?"

That caught Dipper by surprise, and he stopped tonguing the lid of his coffee to peer owlishly at him. "Did you just call me 'Mason Evergreen'?" Seconds of silence passed in which he blinked at him, awaiting some explanation that never came. "My coffee is fine. Thanks for asking, ...Bill Cryptogram?" This was getting better and better, with Bill breaking into laughter, which intensified as he saw the horrified-slash-murderous looks of Stan and Ford.

"What, did I ruffle some branches back there? Get your  _needles_  in a twist?" He winked at them through the mirror.

Dipper appeared alarmed and struggled to get a good look in the rearview, fighting against his height and the constraints of the seatbelt. "Wait, are they doing drugs in our backseat? Can you guys not? That's extremely dangerous, if you are, and it'd be—"

Stan groaned lowly. "Nah, he's being a dickwad. I fucking hate you,  _Triangle_." Bill's smile faded instantly, annoyance crossing his features. He hated that old codename, didn't know why Stan had to bring it up when they were having  _fun_.

"You can hate me all you want, at least my favorite hat doesn't look like a fish eating a stupid pellet." Stan knew what hat he was talking about, it was where he got his own codename from, not that he wore it very often. To his amusement, he could see Stan bristling in the back, and he chuckled faintly. It was always worth pissing Stan off, acquainted with how easily fired up he'd get when his hat was involved, a worthless item he was strangely protective over.

"Don't ya fuckin' talk about my hat!"

Apparently troubled and puzzled by the discussion, Dipper's eyes were on him, searching for answers. "Not that this isn't a super riveting conversation, but I don't really know what's happening."

"Unimportant nonsense," Ford clarified, "but I don't know why I expected any better when we're confined to a vehicle with the two most argumentative individuals in the crew." His eyebrows shot up at the blatant accusation, unappreciated coming from Ford who somehow didn't see the irony.

"Oh of course," Bill retorted, "it's not like  _Fordsy_  doesn't constantly get in arguments with everyone else too. Noo, he's too  _intellectual_  for that."

There was a huffy noise from Ford, and he narrowed his eyes to ask, "Are you suggesting—?"

"Looks like we're here!" Bill didn't know what he was going to say, nor did he care when the complex rolled into sight. Perfect, just in time to shut the nerd up because the last thing they wanted was for Fordsy to go on a rant about how he wasn't the issue. They didn't have an hour and a half to listen to his five paragraph essay on why he was the most laid-back of all crew members.

Pulling into the garage, Bill wasted no time in exiting with his coffee mug and he headed for the door. "Are you guys coming?" Whether they did or not didn't make a difference to him, as long as they got the hell out of his car.

The scuffing of feet on concrete, the clumsy scampering toward him was undoubtedly Dipper's approach, and he fell into step with a glance over his shoulder. "They're going to be up in a minute," he said, "but I think they wanted time to discuss what they're going to tell the crew about the bank heist stuff."

"While they're fighting for the next hour, do you want to join me for some Netflix?" He'd steal the remote from Mabel if they were still watching. "We could cuddle, finish up our coffees… if you want."

"I don't think it'll take them  _that_ long, but yeah, sure. Cuddling is good." There was a playful, affectionate nudge as Dipper walked beside him. "I mean, the coffee was good too, but I finished mine a while ago." Bill smiled at him as they headed into the penthouse. For once, it finally seemed like things were looking up for their relationship.

Although he knew the trust hadn't been restored between them, and he had to come to terms with the possibility that it never would, Bill was determined to keep improving, eager for what the future had in store for him and his Pine Tree.

Starting with an evening of Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be Sunday, the chapter where Robbie and Dipper make friendship bracelets or have a violent confrontation. It's too soon to tell which way it'll go, but a quick refresher of Ch. 5 might be helpful!
> 
> We're hoping to return to biweekly updates, but this week is busy with normal life craziness, our anniversary, and a Halloween oneshot in the works.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): violence.

"It was around here," he described as the car slowed to a halt near the streetlamp, "that Owl Mask walked up to me. I don't know where he came from, but one second nobody was in sight, and the next he was standing there."

Beside him, Stan let out a rumble, turning his head while he looked around the emptied street, throwing the car into park. "Seems quiet." Although Dipper agreed, the isolation didn't manifest as intimidating in the daytime as it did during the middle of the night. "What do ya think, Ford? They hidin' out here like the scrawny bastards they are?"

For the past few days, Stan and Ford had been urging him to pinpoint the exact location where he'd come across Owl Mask so they could scout it, their efforts to find the Ravagers and map safehouses intensifying. Dipper didn't fully grasp why because they'd talked about raiding them but didn't seem interested in violence, so he'd tentatively figured a robbery was their goal. Either way, Stan didn't care for the threat of a rival gang with a larger heist on the horizon, though Dipper was more hopeful, citing the animosity may have died since Owl Mask hadn't been cruel to him.

"Likely," Ford said from the backseat, "if the word about their financial strain is accurate. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be the first time we've spotted them in the area. This would be an ideal location to have a base of sorts, given the cost of living is cheaper in this district." Although Ford didn't specify why, the evidence of his claim was bars on the windows of residencies, uninviting buildings, obscene and untouched graffiti, and litter packed in corners of its broken streets.

Stan's chuckle drew him to reality, and Dipper saw the shake of his head. "Trash livin' in the trash, seems accurate. When we kill 'em, we should toss 'em in the dump where they belong."

"Are you seriously saying this to the guy who lived in Richman his whole life?" Dipper asked with a frown, wishing they'd be a bit more respectful of low-income districts when their situation was significantly different. Painting in broad strokes was inappropriate, coming from them. "Compared to that, West Vinewood is a total step down." Bristling, Stan's amusement instantly faded, and he shot him a glare.

"Are  _ya_  seriously up-talking the district of the asswads that murdered your folks?"

Dipper tensed and mumbled, "Look, it wasn't the  _district's_  fault. If we blamed whole areas for the crimes of a tiny portion of its residents, that'd be really irrational." Most were workers of the surrounding factories and wouldn't dream of violating the law while they struggled to pay rent and consistently put food on the table.

" _Children_ ," Ford broke into the conversation, clearing his throat, "we're here on business. Act appropriately, and don't fall victim to petty arguments."

"This ain't a petty argument, Ford, this is  _serious_." Stan's tone was enough to make Dipper roll his eyes, moderately surprised by how offended he was at the simple comment. "The kid's defending these damn rats! He  _insulted_  our home."

Over his protest of 'I didn't!', Ford talked, "Be that as it may, we have work to do." There was the clunk of a car door, and Dipper took that as his cue to get out as well, actually glad to be free of Stan's overly-warm vehicle, not that the air was refreshing outside. Stan grumbled as he exited after them, and Dipper could hear something about 'rich boys, fuckin' perfect for each other', bringing him to wonder if that was in reference to him and Bill.

Moving on from the discussion, he joined Stan and Ford at the trunk where Stan was grabbing a firearm and bandolier, the latter prompting Ford to question with a raised brow, "You do realize that won't be necessary?" But before Stan could respond, Ford was grabbing  _his_ rifle, the lighter one with the engraving, and loading it before handing it to him. "Your idealistic illusions about this neighborhood aside, it is still dangerous and better to be prepared than caught in a confrontation without the ability to fend off attackers."

Not thrilled with the prospect of carrying a gun, he reluctantly slung it over his shoulder and just hoped it wouldn't be needed on this outing.

Ford closed the trunk and approached the streetlamp, producing a folded map from his pocket that he began to scribble notes onto. "Here?" he indicated, waiting for confirmation, and Dipper nodded while he walked toward the spot.

"Yeah, he was standing over here when I saw him."

"Wish ya could've shot him," Stan rumbled as he stepped over to him, the bandolier suspended across his body, accentuating his broad frame. "Made everyone's life a lil' easier."

Dipper made a face at the notion of harming him. "Owl Mask was nice enough not to shoot me, I could probably show a little decency and do the same. Besides, if I would have raised a weapon, who's to say he wouldn't have beaten me to the trigger? I'm guessing he's more experienced and wouldn't have let some stupid kid take a shot at him without reflexively taking one himself." So if he had a weapon and used it on Owl Mask, logic dictated it wouldn't have gone as smoothly.

"Stop ruinin' the dream, kid." And for that, Dipper sent a sympathetic smile his way because his intentions weren't to antagonize Stan today, though it was exceedingly easy to do.

"Sure, okay. Next time Owl Mask is saving my life, I promise I'll put a bullet in him." That would teach him to be kind, Dipper thought to himself with some amusement. Truly driving home their point to the Ravagers that violence wasn't an effective strategy.

"You'd better! Can't be havin' them runnin' about any longer. Those rats need to be wiped out."

Grimacing, Dipper admitted, "I hope that's not why we're looking over this neighborhood today." Ford had debriefed it as wanting to mark potential areas in which the Ravagers frequented, getting acquainted with the layout if they were to scale a raid on a safehouse in the future. Dipper didn't personally understand why it was important to 'show them their place in the food chain' as Stan had called it, but his requests to leave their rival alone had gone unheard.

"If I wanted to go in guns blazin', we'd be supplied and we'd have more people. Don't worry so much, kid, this is just a scoutin' mission."

"Right, and as a scouting mission, let's continue." Ford glanced from his notes to Dipper, giving a nod of encouragement, a silent reminder they were bound by the clock and didn't have all day.

Taking the hint, he said, "Oh! Uh, well, I ran away, and I went through here." He started walking into the alley and could hear the brothers following, which was strangely reassuring after the alleyway elicited feelings of discomfort and distress, the memory producing ghost pains in his leg. Or maybe those were real pains, he couldn't tell. Stan and Ford kept instructing him to take it easy, so once they were finished with this, he planned on adhering to the request.

"He followed ya through here?" Stan asked gruffly behind him, and Dipper hummed to verify the statement.

"I think I fainted somewhere around this spot?" he thought aloud, examining the area and finding the concrete was still tinged a coppery red with dried blood and bunches of discarded wire and other metallic bits scattered on the ground. With a hand motion toward it, he winced as he said, "I fell into that mess."

Stan let out a grunt, stepping to his side. "Do ya remember where he went from here?" The furiously-scribbling Ford moved after Stan, jotting down something he couldn't quite make out from here, making little additions to his crude map.

"Well, I saw him standing over here," Dipper said, striding into the spot, "then he helped me for a minute…" he gazed to the other end of the alley, "and he left by walking this way, then went right. I couldn't see him after that."

"Interesting," Ford commented idly, brushing past him to peek in both directions, a noise of contemplation escaping him. "Give me a moment to…" he trailed off, thumbing through his notes for something, muttering unintelligibly under his breath.

Dipper seized the chance to address Stan, rocking back and forth on his heels, "So, I know Ford said the possibility of something happening is low, but do you think this rifle works anymore? You said it was in a display case for twenty years." The threat of danger, however minimal, was still stressing him out. It probably didn't help to have the rifle strapped to his back, the ever-present reminder that he may need to use it.

Stan rolled his eyes. "I'm sure she works fine, kid. We made sure of that before we gave her to ya, so don't worry yourself over that, okay? Ya probably won't even use 'er."

"...That's good to know," he said with a cough and an awkward pause. "I'm glad I won't have to use this rifle that does not have a gender."

Unshouldering the rifle, his hand brushed over the engraving as he stared at it, still uncertain of what it really said. Stan's misspelling excuse didn't add up. "Who did you say owned this before me?" Dipper inquired, working at this from an angle since he already knew the answer: Mav. Someone named Mav, according to a drunk Stan.

"Why do ya wanna know? I told ya already, and  _his_  name is not to be stated, ya hear me?" Stan said, looking defensive, an early warning sign that he was closing up and wouldn't be supplying further information if he didn't play this right.

Disappointed, Dipper wanted to push for more, but Ford said, "Alright then, I'm satisfied with my notations and created several theories of where a nearby base may be located. Stanley, do we have time to continue scouting the surrounding alleys? It may be worth our while to be familiar with the area if we're, ah, planning to visit them."

Stan glanced at Ford, nodding. "We should have some time left before we gotta scram. Wonder where they're hidin' out, it can't be far from here, can it?"

Ford carried onward, leading their expedition between the buildings and through the connecting passageways. "I expect it's close. As I said earlier, Dipper's experience wouldn't be the first encounter we've heard of in this part of the city."

Trailing behind Ford, he fell into step alongside Stan. "I guess we don't need to say his name, but are you going to tell me what happened to him, or…?"

"What was that?" Ford asked with a glance over his shoulder at the two, pausing for a second to adjust his glasses.

Dipper responded, "Nothing, just talking to Stan about stuff." That seemed to satiate Ford, and they resumed moving forward.

"He died." Stan's voice was blunt, matter-of-fact, and Dipper stopped abruptly to gawk at him in horror before taking a couple quick paces to close the distance between them again. "That's all there is to it."

"He  _died_?" he near-squeaked, voice dropping to a hiss as he struggled to remove the rifle from his back, holding it in front of him. "Why would you give this to me?" If this belonged to someone who met an early demise, it probably wasn't the best item to  _gift_ to someone who wished to stay alive and well. It was morbid and creepy, and putting his name on the thing felt disrespectful. Trying to recall the conversation with Stan, his unending curiosity got the better of him and he felt compelled to ask, "Is it because he didn't want to hurt anyone…?"

Because if Mav couldn't survive a pacifist philosophy as a member of the gang, he doubted he could either, and nervously awaited the day that would test his morals.

"Why are ya losin' your shit over this?" he questioned. "He didn't die with the gun."

"For some reason, that isn't comforting at all," he said flatly. "What I mean is, doesn't it feel weird to you? To give me this gun as a gift when it belonged to someone else who died in the crew? I know you said it'd be more suited for me than the other firearms since it's lighter," and for someone of a smaller stature, "but that doesn't automatically make it non-creepy to be holding the former possession of a dead guy who I didn't know." It was worrying, how alike they were from what Stan said; they looked like each other, they had reservations about violence. Unsure of how to feel about that, Dipper awkwardly joked, "So… if he died twenty years ago, and I'm about to turn twenty, it's kind of like I stole his life essence." Considering how similar they were. Stan made a face, recoiling from him.

Well, he'd made a mistake.

His voice had lowered to a snarl, looking annoyed, maybe angry at his comment. "No. Don't you  _dare_ say that, kid. He was asexual, he wouldn't have wanted anyone 'stealing his life essence.'" A pause, then he bitterly added: "He wanted something domestic, and it killed him."

Dipper didn't know what to do from here but had long since decided venturing further into this was off limits. Changing the subject, he said, "Hey, Ford, do you think—?"

"Hush." At his and Stan's questioning looks, Ford narrowed his eyes, scanning the alleyway. "Listen."

And Dipper did, he could hear some vehicular noise as was standard in the city, but there were voices. Loud, demanding voices over the occasional snap of rapid-fire gunshots, and Ford was on the move in the next second, indicating for them to follow. Stan was close behind him, raising his gun with bright, excited eyes.

"Stay together," Ford commanded, keeping his movements calculated as he brushed around corners, trodding silently but quickly through the alleys. Feeling dizzy with adrenaline and fear, Dipper's heart rate took a leap to space as they grew closer to the gunshots, a white-knuckled grip on the rifle. The gunshots had ceased, but the voices persisted and echoed around the closed passages of the city, leaving it impossible to determine the distance between them.

Ford suddenly faltered in his tracks, putting a hand out to prevent him and Stan from advancing further. "Drug deal. I believe they're—"

"Hey!" A shout sliced the taut serenity, a group of masked figures coming into sight, and Ford gave a frantic signal to take cover, but it seemed to be too late when their presence was already known. "Did you hear that? Somebody's around, I know it." Dipper was being grabbed by Stan dragged behind a concrete stoop for cover. "Did we get followed?" He could hardly focus, the pounding of his head, the fight or flight response whirring into high gear. It was worsened as the same voice, but thunderous this time, called down the alley: "That scum asked for it by lying to us. If you call the cops, you and your family are dead meat!"

Dipper shifted to peek over the steps and to the end of the stretch of alley, seeing the three masked individuals more clearly now.

"Thompson, I fucking told you to keep an eye out!"

The bulky figure in the bear mask whined, seemingly displeased with the name that was used. " _Guys_ ," came the low cry. "Codenames!"

"Whatever," replied a sneer, and Dipper attributed it to the one in the raven mask. There was a third member, someone shorter with a blue rabbit mask tailing the others.

"Robbie," was a breathy murmur from Ford, his eyes never leaving the trio, and Dipper realized that name was attached to an identity on the murder board, the raven.

Robbie kicked a can down the street toward them, the metal clinking and finally rolling to a stop mere feet from their hiding place. "I know I heard something." Dipper audibly gasped as a handgun was raised in their direction even if they hadn't been spotted yet, only relaxing when it swept the rest of the alley.

"Maybe it was a cat," Thompson said, his voice cracking painfully.

There was a jab in his shoulder, and Ford was shifting his line of sight to the rifle urgently. Although it took a couple seconds of confusion, Dipper finally got the message and with a soft 'oh!', handed the firearm over to Ford, who messed with it for an additional second or two before raising the barrel over the stoop carefully. Stan followed suit, the muzzle of his gun turning to keep on the moving individuals.

Then he pulled the trigger, firing a shot into the group of gangsters.

Dipper jumped from the loud  _BANG!_ beside him, the scent of gunpowder instantly filling the air as there was a furious and startled yell of, "It's the fuckin' Owls! Cover and fill 'em with lead!" There were sounds of scrambling and blasting gunshots, bullets whizzing by. Hitting the bricks, the concrete of the stairs, the metal supports— it was a shower of violence, and Dipper was terrified, blood rushing through his ears while his senses kicked into overdrive and left him submerged in panic.

"Shit!" Stan ducked behind their cover as the barrage of bullets continued relentlessly. "Fuckin' dicks, I don't think we'll beat 'em, Ford. We're outgunned, outnumbered, outsupplied."

"Call Bill, he's closest today. Get him over here now because we're going to need backup," Ford demanded and shoved his cell phone at him, which Dipper took, almost dropping it twice as his mind processed what he was being asked for. When he hesitated, he was met with impatience, "What are you waiting for? Go!"

As Dipper sprinted from the alley to find somewhere quieter with more shelter, there was a shout behind him from one of the Ravagers, "Thompson, get the grenades and we'll drive 'em out of there! I'm heading around the back." Paying no attention to it, his vision was tunneled while he raced through the backstreets, stopping around the corner to finish tapping Bill's name on the screen.

The ringing was barely audible over the sound of his harsh breathing and thudding pulse, thumping beyond his control. It was climbing to two rings. Three rings. It felt like forever, a sentiment given by a mindless mumble he all out  _pleaded_ that Bill would pick up. Four rings.

And a click.

"Fordsy!" the booming voice alerted him to the call being answered. Although Dipper tried to speak, his throat was tight and tongue numb, so Bill carried on, "Need help with another equation? I always knew you sucked at math! It's amazing you graduated university."

Dipper felt like he was going to pass out from the light-headedness, but he pushed it aside to explain through a shuddering exhale, "Bill, it's me. There's— we're— run in with the Ravagers," he managed, uncontrollably quivering, "Ford and Stan need help. They're sh-shooting at us." He tried to ignore his stomach in knots and shaking hands.

"Oh." There was a pause, then a frantic demand. "What the fuck are you doing, why are they shooting at you? Where are you?"

"Because we're here and they're here and I don't know how that could end well!" he squeaked, a hand brushing through his hair and tightening on the clump in its grasp. "I'm by— it's the spot where Owl Mask… where you found me in wire.  _Help_." There was audible cussing on the other end, then:

"Hang tight, okay? I'll be there soon. Stay on the phone."

"But I— Stan and Ford… I have to tell them you'll be here," Dipper said as he was already weaving his way through the alleys. Although he didn't know why, perhaps it was the product of shock, he had to ask, "Can you hear it?" Namely, the gunshots' constant crackle, the incessant exchanging of fire between rival gangs.

"You!" A voice behind him growled, and the intensity—the pure  _hatred_ —of his tone had Dipper jerking in surprise, inhaling sharply as he whirled around. The raven-masked, lanky one— Robbie. Dressed in black, his thin frame hovered menacingly while he started toward him in purposeful strides. "I knew I'd catch you, you goddamn coward. Now you're  _mine_. You think runnin' away is gonna save you?" The voice was hollow coming from inside the mask, but there was something faintly identifiable about the manner of speech. The sneer, the condescension, the sarcasm. He'd heard it before but couldn't place where.

"What the fuck is going on?" Bill demanded. "Pine Tree?"

Stunned, his mouth was moving, throat was working, but no words would come out as fear for his life encased him in a cold grasp. Heart beating his rib cage senselessly, every inch of him was rigid and it was as if he'd forgotten how to move, how to breathe. Dipper had no idea what to do when there was no escape and his legs were threatening to collapse beneath him. Bill was saying  _something_ , something he couldn't quite comprehend, into his ear via the phone, louder with urgency by the second but he couldn't process it. His mind was as frozen as the rest of him.

When he could finally make a noise, it was miles from coherent as an inhuman string of sounds fell from his lips, and he backed up to find the brick wall was against him. In another moment, Robbie cocked and raised his gun, aiming it directly at his face. "Hold on. Don't you move, or I'll blast a hole in your worthless brains." Terrified, he wasn't sure he could've gone far anyway when each muscle contained in his body had stopped cooperating and turned to water, on the verge of spilling in a massive breakdown. 

Advancing several steps closer, Robbie snatched his hand in a tight, gloved grasp, letting it fall away after a second. A harsh laugh caused Dipper to jolt. "Nice ring," he scoffed. "I can't believe it's  _you_. I've always wanted to kill a discount whore! Stupid slut, you sucked the wrong dicks."

Completely confused by the degradation, he blinked at the masked figure. "I… I— what?" he babbled but hardly heard himself say it aloud, the words were light and breathy. Oxygen was escaping him too fast to replenish through the tiny gasps that he remembered to take, and he felt like he was going to faint from how his entire being was wracked with an insurmountable surge of anxiety.

Robbie spoke with a sneer to his words, "Us Ravagers could've given you a better time than those old fucks." He had kept the gun raised, his finger moving onto the trigger. Dipper winced, his eyes screwing shut in fear, the anticipation blocking out everything but this moment. "But I bet mommy and daddy wouldn't have liked that. Real  _shame_  I had to kill 'em, kid." Eyes flying open again with pinprick pupils, his stomach dropped hard, the realization their killer was here, this guy, maybe with this gun. He was the reason his parents were dead, the shadow behind never-ending heartache and grief, the trauma that shaped his life, and all of it was because of him.

The gunpowder lingering in the air, the sheer horror coursing through him, and distant yelling from Stan and Ford was urging his mind to revert into that bleak crevice, the dark spot where he obsessed over it non-stop. Intrusive thoughts brought memories of blood-stained carpets and piles of gore,  _his parents_ —

Interrupting the trance, Robbie nodded toward the phone, which Dipper had forgotten existed until he brought attention to it. "Is that Cipher? Put him on speaker."

"Um…" his mind was reeling, hardly able to understand what was being asked of him when he was preoccupied by the panic-inducing thought of being murdered in this very alley within minutes. But once the question clicked, he gave a small nod and a tentative "yes." As requested, he held the device away from his ear after putting it on speakerphone mode.

"Bill," Robbie said with mock glee, the sarcasm inching in. "You're getting real friendly with the target considering our little arrangement."

" _Target_?" Dipper screeched, hysterical at the implication. "Am I—?"

"No!" he snapped, and the crackle of Bill's phone through the speaker echoed him. "Don't be so fuckin' vain, you're nothing but the  _example_  I'll be making so Bill knows his place. When you mess with the leader of the Ravagers, you don't get nice things like whorish  _fucktoys_." Under his breath, he thought he heard him say, "Distractions."

"If you touch him," an edge came to Bill's voice, dangerous. Cold. Dipper had never heard him so… furious. "You know what happens. This is the future of the Ravagers you're gambling with, choose your next move carefully."

The noise that erupted from Robbie was something between a snarl and a laugh. "I'm not afraid of you, Cipher." If Dipper hadn't been fearing for his life, he may have noticed the hesitance clinging to the claim. "You've been doing nothing but fuck around because of him– now your pretty whore can die knowing it was your goddamn fault. You've been aware this was coming for a long time."

"Bill?" Dipper's voice cracked on the near-whisper, wrought with fear. Gaze flicking to Robbie, he spoke shakily, "Please, man. I'm n-not even armed. Like, I get the rival gang thing, but..."

"It's not about  _that_ ," Robbie barked. "How stupid are you? I don't care that  _you're_  an Owl, you're a loose end and all you've done is get in our way." His finger began to press down on the trigger, and Dipper tensed up, eyes going wide. "I'm going to  _make you bleed_ , and Bill can enjoy listening to your cries as you die a painful death, and the cruelty of the universe swallows you."

The world seemed to go in slow motion. His finger squeezed the trigger. Paralyzed, Dipper's heart stopped, everything else went blank. He'd been here before, but this time, there was no waking from the dream. The standard mantra flashed behind his eyes with a stunning clarity: he was going to die,  _he was going to die_ , he—

A click drew him into an equally-nightmarish reality, and that was when he saw the upright shell sticking awkwardly from the ejection port. "Fucking cheap _piece of shit_!"

Seeing the opportunity, Dipper wasn't thinking—operating on survival instinct—as he exploited Robbie's moment of distraction to potentially save his own life. He rushed Robbie, losing the phone in the process but hardly noticing when he was aiming to get the gun away from him. With an angry grunt, Robbie shoved him to the ground, the grip of the gun creating a metallic thud as it collided with his head.

Robbie shouted, but Dipper didn't hear it over the sound of his ears ringing from the brutal collision. The pain didn't set in immediately though, and he was still conscious— apparently, Robbie hadn't planned for that with how he was kneeling beside him, the muzzle of the gun grazing over his stomach with precision. It rested in his palm, Robbie fiddling with the slide.

Knowing he would be dead if he didn't act, Dipper shot up and ignored the squawk of surprise, giving the firearm a hard smack and sending it skittering across the alleyway pavement. It landed partially under the dumpster, but he didn't give Robbie a chance to attempt to fetch it, hurling his entire body to knock him off balance. Raging curses left Robbie's mouth, and he wriggled away roughly, before he returned with a vengeance and pinned Dipper down with his knees framing his sides. "I'm gonna make you  _pay_  for that, you—!" he said, the yell resounding from inside the mask.

With the fight or flight instinct pumping through him, this… this was familiar and Dipper knew exactly how to make it painful. Bill had fallen victim to the same mistake. A new burst of inspiration and adrenaline guiding his movements, his knee shot upward and landed a hard blow into Robbie's gut. It invoked a cry of pain, a growl following as he kept Dipper down with a hand, using his other to forcibly pry Dipper's legs apart despite his violent kicking and put his own in between them to dissuade another attack. There was another mutter, something about being a slut, but Dipper didn't hear it in full as he squirmed.

The will to live was driving his movements as he thrashed beneath Robbie, scrambling to find something that would allow him to escape, wild eyes searching for  _anything_ to free himself. " _Bill_ ," Dipper cried out in fear toward where the phone rested on the concrete. " _Stan_!  _Ford_!" There was yelling on the other end of the line, but it was unintelligible above the distant bullet spatter, and his pleas for help were silenced by hands closing around his neck.

There was an instant, uncomfortable pressure on his throat and his air intake was immediately restricted, only leading him to strain harder for breath. It was nothing like what he and Bill did, not remotely close— this was an attempt to kill him, and it hurt so much worse than he thought choking could. It felt like his entire neck was being flattened, and he couldn't manage to get an ounce of air into his system. Struggling, Dipper brought his hands up to try to pry his fingers backward but it was to no avail, his grip was unwavering. Fleeting thoughts of self defense had him judging the possibility of eye-gouging, of elbowing, but neither were viable in this position or with the mask. Swapping tactics, Dipper grasped Robbie's elbows to relieve some pressure by pushing upward; it was more effective than he'd thought it'd be, suggesting their strength was near-matched despite Robbie's advantage of using his weight. It wouldn't last forever, but it bought him time.

"What the hell? Pass out already, you damn slut!" Robbie spat the words out, trying to apply more pressure to his neck as he adjusted his grip, which placed even less strain on his ability to breathe, giving him a chance to gasp for air. "I'm so fuckin' sick of you! Which goddamn vein  _is_  it?" And then he was rearranging his grip again, another second to squeeze in a rough inhale under forceful digits. "Why are you so fucking  _hard to strangle_?!"

The chain of bullets was closer now, closing in on them, and he jerked away with an "oh fuck!" before scrambling back. Robbie sent one last indistinguishable look in his direction, stomping a down on the phone to shatter it into pieces.

Then, he bolted.

The fire ceased as footsteps approached, but he laid motionless on the pavement, busy catching his breath. "Dipper!" Ford knelt beside him, offering a hand up, which he accepted after he dazedly realized what it was. "Are you alright?" Nearby, Stan stood guard, alert with his gun raised.

"I'm…" he rose to his feet, brushing himself off and discovering just how dizzy he was— not from being choked, but the rush of feeling death was about to greet him. "I guess I'm fine? My throat hurts." A slight rasp decorated his voice, but that seemed to be dwindling quickly now that Robbie wasn't squeezing the life from him. "Jesus Christ, that guy—Robbie—he really wanted to kill me…? For some reason?" Dipper still didn't understand how his murder would be teaching Bill a lesson, but maybe killing significant others of rival gang members was the ultimate power move… or something.

"Well, it's not entirely unexpected," Ford said with a raised brow. "You are essentially a member of the Owls, and it seems Robbie knows that."

"There's also the matter of ya bein' one of the last survivors of the hit on your family," Stan commented bitterly, yet Ford's sideways look didn't deter him. "He might recognize ya as M– ..the son of the senator and mayor."

Through a mumble, he said, "Can you please stick to calling me 'Dipper'? 'Mason' or that weird epithet you used is sort of unnecessary. Bill only uses 'Mason' sometimes because... actually, never mind." A cough, and he rubbed his sore throat. "How did you get over here? I thought they were shooting at you."

"Wasn't gonna say that." Moving on, he slapped a hand on his shoulder and continued gruffly, "They booked it after Thompson couldn't find grenades and their ammo ran out. It was a victory thanks to you, kid. Robbie was so distracted over here that he didn't have time to ambush us."

While Stan was talking, Ford had disengaged from the discussion and was searching the area, making a disgusted noise as he collected his broken phone. "I see desperation truly has come knocking," he muttered, pocketing the device and leaning down to slide Robbie's gun from under the dumpster once he'd shouldered his own rifle. Which Dipper guessed was technically his, but he didn't mind if Ford wanted to hold onto it. Rolling over the Ravagers' weapon in his six-fingered hands (had he always had extra fingers? the codename checked out), he said, "I believe we ought to confiscate this. One less firearm they can harm us with."

Widening his stance, Ford lifted the sights to his opened eye and aimed down the alley, finger pressing the trigger only to produce another hollow, thudding click. A knowing mutter of "jammed" escaped Ford as he assessed the weapon again, tapping the magazine and racking the slide of the gun. "Hardly a difficult fix."

"They probably can't afford another one," Stan joked. "Robbie's gonna be  _pissed_  when he finds it missin', it'll be fuckin' funny."

"He can get more pissed? He seemed super angry earlier," Dipper remembered. "I was on the phone when he saw me and started going off about how he was going to let me bleed out while talking to Bill. It was… pretty sadistic and twisted." Stan looked surprised, and he glanced at Ford.

"I thought I'd be the subject of any violent killings considering Lee," Ford muttered, a rare expression of worry on his features. "Stay away from him, Dipper. I don't know what you've done to—"

"Nothing! I didn't do  _anything_  to him."

"—to give him a reason for his malevolence, nor do I care. Stay away."

Stan shrugged. "It's like he has grudge against ya, kid, if he's adamant on making you 'bleed' or whatever. Ya steal his girlfriend or somethin'? He's all for the petty shit."

Oblivious to what he could have done to trigger that, Dipper frowned. "Nobody has ever shown romantic interest in me." Well... as far as Stan knew. "And  _that guy_ has a girlfriend? But no, I already told you I didn't do anything to him." To the extent of his knowledge, they hadn't met before. An idea occurred to him, and he pointed out, "Maybe it's something against Bill since he acted more like it was a punishment for him rather than me."

Ford was thoughtful. "Now that is  _very_  likely. He has a lot of connections, but he has a decent share of enemies as well. Speaking of, where did you leave off with him?"

He blinked, perplexed by the question. "What?"

"You said you were able to call Cipher."

"Oh! Uh, he said he was going to be here soon." Last he'd heard, Bill was on a freelance job so 'soon' wasn't a great indicator of when he'd be showing up because it could be anywhere from moments to an hour, depending on how easy it'd been to leave.

Stan raised his eyebrow at him. "He'd better have a good excuse as to why he ain't here yet, the fight's fuckin' over." After he finished, there was a distant yell, though Dipper couldn't make the words out. "We should scram, that's probably those fuckheads comin' back."

With a nod, Ford was beginning to lead the way to the vehicle, navigating through the intersection of narrow, winding alleys that'd bring them to where they'd started. It was nice being able to do something as simple as walk through them without fearing for his life or the lives of Stan and Ford, not that he thought they were completely out of the woods yet with the possibility of the Ravagers' return.

As they neared their vehicle, the yells only became more desperate, and Dipper could piece together the words 'Pine Tree!' Eyes brightening, a soft murmur of "Bill?" fell from his lips as he broke into a jog past Ford, eager to see his boyfriend after hours of being away from one another and a life-threatening encounter with a rival gang. It was mere seconds before he'd closed the distance, and rounding a corner brought Bill into his sight. "Bill!" Crashing into him, Dipper hugged tightly, content to spend the rest of eternity in his embrace.

"Pine Tree," the words came with a crack to his voice, a sob, and Bill reciprocated the hug as he nuzzled into him. "I thought you were dead."

"Holy shit," he breathed, shivering, but remained against Bill, "it was really terrifying. I'm okay, though." Mostly thanks to Stan and Ford, and Robbie's inability to properly choke him, but that may have had something to do with his own defensive maneuvers.

A flood of comfort and sheer relief followed as Bill pressed closer, barely able to compose himself. "Your neck– is it okay? I know he was trying to strangle you, thank the stars he's too stupid to do it right."

"I don't know," he confessed, keeping one arm around Bill while his other hand brushed over the places Robbie had been applying pressure onto. "It's still painful, if that's what you mean, but I guess that comes with the territory?" It was unrealistic to expect it to be sunshine and rainbows, it  _stung_  and made his throat ache, but he expected the physical wounds would fade. The attempted strangling had been a horrifying experience, feeling powerless with no means of escape, being forced to acknowledge his own vulnerability. He'd gotten lucky, there was nothing more to it. Next time maybe fate wouldn't be as kind.

It wasn't to his parents, and the thought of them had his mind spinning with a resurgence of grief. If anything during that encounter was going to haunt him for days, weeks, months to come, it would be that. The choking element had been so fast, over quickly- unbelievably frightening, but he'd  _survived_.

"I'm sorry," Bill's voice broke, dropping into a whisper. Dipper blinked, unsure, about to protest. "I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't… I didn't think this would happen."

"What?" he asked, confounded, the smallest of whines involuntarily seeping from him after as he nuzzled Bill. "I don't think you're responsible for this. Like, at all, so don't worry about it. Besides, I'm seriously fine." He'd thought he already clarified that, but his fretting was as present as ever.

"It is," he mumbled. "He was angry with me, he took it out on you. He would've killed you if Ford hadn't showed up."

"You think he would've?" Dipper wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh at that or stifle the burst of fear because he was right, he could've been killed easily if not for that specific chain of events, but he hadn't. "Not sure how much you heard, but he wasn't doing a great job of it. I guess it makes sense that this was a message for you, and I kind of figured that's why he was targeting me, but it doesn't explain why he was calling me a whore and a slut the whole time. Is he, uh… quirky like that?"

There was a cough, a clearing of someone's throat behind them, and Dipper recognized it as Ford's method of drawing attention. "Bill, Dipper," he addressed them, "there's no time to behave like lovebirds. Consider it enough of a privilege that we've allowed your 'friends with benefits' arrangement." Bill glanced over at him, though he refused to budge from Dipper's side.

"Fordsy, can you give us a minute?"

"We're leaving," he said, striding past them toward the vehicle with Stan in tow, "so you have all the time in the world, but I don't suggest waiting around for the Ravagers to find you. This time, they may be better armed— without a gun that's prone to jamming."

Stan chuckled behind Ford. "They couldn't afford better gear if they tried, Ford! That's probably the last damn gun they had for Raven boy." Quieter, he added: "So.. those two, they more than fuckin'?" Dipper strained to hear the answer but could only make out a noncommittal reply from Ford, then a demand to get in the vehicle and drive them to the penthouse.

"I guess that means I'm supposed to get a ride with you. We should leave too," he suggested with a wary surveying of the area. "I don't want them to come and finish this. Unless you're carrying, we don't have any means of defense whatsoever." Ford had confiscated his rifle for the firefight.

"We'll be fine," Bill told him. "Don't worry, okay cutie? No one's going to fuck with us. Let's go home." It was intriguing how the reassurance had him relaxing again, but not to the point where he was about to let his guard down. The confrontation with Robbie had left Dipper feeling afraid and vulnerable, despite Bill's attempts to calm him. He reached to take his hand, squeezing it tightly as he led him toward the golden vehicle parked at the end of the street, haphazardly halfway onto the sidewalk.

Returning the squeeze, Dipper asked, "Do you think we should be more careful about this? You heard what Stan was saying to Ford about there being more than..." he tried to bite back the laugh, but it spilled over with his best impersonation of Stan, "more than  _fuckin_ '." Which they weren't doing, so that added to the entertainment.

"No," Bill said, almost stubbornly. "We don't need to be more careful, fuck them. They can be suspicious if they want, they have nothing to confront us with."

"Yeah, that's true. I mean it'd be one thing if we did couple stuff like hold hands or wear almost identical rings or snuggle during movie nights or take long drives together with coffee dates. Good thing we don't do that," Dipper said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

Bill tightened his grip around his hand. "Do you  _want_  to stop?" Honestly, if they stopped, it would be more suspicious than if they didn't change anything about how they acted around one another.

Recent events made him wonder if Stan and Ford had noticed anything amiss, but that put a rock in the bottom of his stomach as those thoughts returned to him, made him feel sick. When he realized he hadn't yet replied, he said, "Not unless you want to, I guess."

"I don't." He moved, going around the car to get in the driver's side, and Dipper was listless as he fell into the old habit of climbing into the passenger side. Stealing a look at Bill, it was hard to see his boyfriend when his mind was caught in the loop of seeing someone who'd drugged him without his knowledge, much less consent.

It made the weight in his gut heavier, feeling like it was crushing through his body and mangling his internals with it until he was a smoothie inside. This was a cycle he was a victim to on occasion, significantly less than the first few days but being with Bill sometimes triggered it, the feelings of anxiety and distrust and  _oh-god-what-if-he-can't-change_. Dipper wasn't sure if he loathed Bill or himself or both of them at the same time, he hated being this way and wondered why Bill had to do this to their relationship.

But the blaming never helped ease the emotional wound. It only reminded him that Bill had good intentions, but did it matter? He'd known better. Stomach twisting again, he wished the voices in his head would stop for a moment, give him a second to try to think about something else. "Pine Tree?" The voice was tentative, challenging to hear under the rumble of the car's engine.

Dipper jumped and straightened, realizing they weren't in the same place he remembered being. How long had they been driving? "Bill, I—" he started like he was scrambling for an excuse, but he shook his head. There wasn't one. Softer, he mumbled into the hands that cupped his face, "I'm sorry."

"Why?" The question was curious, and through his fingers he could see Bill glancing at him. "I don't know why you'd be."

"I'm thinking about it," Dipper confessed, trying to force the nausea into remission, "again. I don't know why this keeps happening." Truthfully, he did know. It was traumatic, and it had damaged their relationship and his sense of trust in Bill. It produced conflicted feelings, stirring the utter relief he'd experienced by having Bill nearby minutes ago with the extreme negative emotions created  _that_ night. It was a messy storm of having no idea how to feel or what to think. Bill went silent, looking away from him to focus on the road.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a sad murmur. "I don't blame you. You have every right to think about it and.. dislike me."

"It's not that I  _want_ to!" he said, frustration dripping into his voice as he threw his hands into his lap, sinking against the passenger seat. "Think about it, that is. I don't dislike you, I— like you, a lot." He rambled on, "The thoughts are intrusive, I can't get rid of them, and it happens when we're together sometimes and it's  _the worst_ but I have no idea how to stop them." With the exception of giving it time to fade and letting the wound heal, smoothing over as their relationship rebuilt, he wasn't sure there was a guaranteed method of removing the thoughts. Bill kept his gaze averted, a guilty expression on his face.

"I don't know if you can," he admitted.

Ridding the intense and persistent cognitions was a strenuous task, and he focused on a different topic to hopefully redirect the conversation, "Did I ever tell you that Stan gave me a rifle when he was drunk?" Dipper wasn't sure he'd remembered to mention it to Bill since they hadn't been on the best terms when it'd happened, they weren't on the best terms now.

Bill's eyes flicked to him in alarm, and Dipper tilted his head in confusion, the reaction unexpected. "He did  _what_?" His voice had hardened, eyes narrowing. "A rifle or  _his_ rifle?"

Puzzled, Dipper lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know…? A rifle?" It was a confused response. "What's the difference?" The rifle had belonged to this Mav person, then it'd been kept by Stan until now, so he wasn't sure what clarification Bill was searching for.

"The difference," Bill spoke slowly with his hands tightening around the steering wheel, "is one's not his dick."

" _Whoa_ , what?" A bolt of shock swept through him, then he shook his head rapidly once he'd recovered from the wave of horrified disgust. "No, Stan gave me  _an actual rifle_." Nose wrinkling, he mumbled, "God, Bill, what the hell is wrong with you? That's really gross."

Bill released his grip around the wheel, hand running through his hair as he glanced out the window. "It's not unheard of to use 'rifle' as a slang for cock, and the guy isn't above making moves on people when he's drunk."

"Trust me, nothing like that happened or will ever happen," Dipper promised, switching subjects to describe the firearm. "The rifle he gave me— it's this lighter one, supposed to be easier for me to handle? I'm not sure if you saw, but Ford had it in a rifle sling today." In his attempt to conjure more identifying features, he suddenly remembered, "It has a weird engraving. Maybe…" he trailed off with his gaze turning thoughtful, surveying his boyfriend, but Bill didn't make eye contact.

"I didn't," he said. "I believe I know the inscription if it's the weapon I think it is, but why are you so curious about it?"

"Because I want to know what it says?" Dipper asked, as if the reason was obvious. His inquisitive nature had been a constant throughout his life, and age hadn't wiped it from existence. "Stan gifted the rifle to me, so I think it's natural to be curious." Bill rolled his eyes, shaking his head as the vehicle made a right turn.

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he prompted, "Can't you read it, Pine Tree?"

Although Dipper was about to say that he couldn't because it was scratched out and Stan was dodging questions about the engraving, he paused, held his tongue, considered his answer. If Bill knew Stan had sabotaged it, he had a suspicion he'd be hesitant to share. "Uh, I want to hear it from my amazing, handsome boyfriend…?" he said and cleared his throat, legs kicking against the seat until it produced a sharp pain. Biting down a yelp, he sucked in air through his teeth as the sting faded.

"But you could've  _read it_ ," Bill pressed. "You should already know what it says."

"I did." A hint of a challenge in his tone, Dipper projected cautiously, "All I'm hearing is that you don't know what it says."

"All I'm hearing is you don't know what it says, and that you're desperately trying to figure it out." Bill glanced at him stonily, and Dipper frowned since he had been caught. "Let me guess what you can read: blank Pines?"

With a groan, he abandoned the act and nodded. "Come on, man, tell me what it says." The response was a smirk, and that led him to flatly deduce, "So you're not telling me." Great, he was going to be stubborn.

Bill shrugged, smirk still etched on his face as he changed to the left lane. "Not right now. We'll see about later."

"Okay…" he said, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. Not necessarily annoyed with the fact that he wouldn't tell him, but the smirk and arrogance that accompanied it were ruffling him. "Why not now?" Bill let out a huff of laughter, and Dipper's displeasure deepened.

"You're  _obsessed_  with this, Pine Tree." Although it was said good-naturedly, it sounded belittling, and he flushed with embarrassment over his quest for information. "Relax, enjoy the ride, and stop focusing so much on some stupid engraving."

"Sorry for asking," he mumbled with slight bitterness. Leaving the subject behind, he sunk into the passenger door, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the city pass by them through the windshield.

Bill shooting down his interests, essentially finding amusement in his attempt to uncover more details about the rifle, wasn't a comfortable feeling. The burn of distrust was still alight within, but the conversation had momentarily diverted him from the singe of its taunting flames telling him this was their new normal.

Bill glanced at him, gauging. "Are you that desperate to know what it says?"

It snapped him to the first days they'd met: awkward, sweaty fourteen-year-old sees college student performing lines and cursing at his slicked-back hair because a strand would always fall in his face. Dipper remembered his dumb crush on a younger Bill, watching him on stage, but  _his voice_ \- he vividly recalled finding it irritable. And for the longest time, that hadn't bothered him as if he'd gone deaf to its negative qualities, but the jarring, abrasive tone was too much to handle under these circumstances with the string of preceding thoughts.

"I didn't think you wanted to talk about it," Dipper said with a low groan, face in his hands again. "Besides, it's not important. Just was stupid, I guess." Sitting the rest of the ride in silence would be preferable, and it'd give him time to process in peace. Bill didn't protest but sighed again, training his attention the road.

* * *

The end of the Ride from Hell arrived when they reached the penthouse, but things weren't quite back to normal. Bill said he needed to make an important phone call and if not for how his knuckles went white with tension as they gripped the steering wheel, he'd have assumed he was lying.

However, Bill dropped him off, leaving him to handle the mess inside alone.

On the sectional sofa, Stan was trying to comfort a visibly-upset Mabel, and Ford was awkwardly helicoptering around the living space like he wanted to do something but couldn't determine what would be beneficial. Expression curious as he walked inside, Dipper didn't know what to make of the scene before him. "Mabel?"

"Dipper," Mabel sobbed his name, looking up at him with tears streaking her face, watery mascara giving her raccoon eyes. Alarmed, he was rushing to her other side to sit down while worry gnawed at him, sinking in the spiny teeth of anxiety.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Mentally, he smacked himself for saying that. Clearly she wasn't okay, if she was okay she wouldn't be sobbing or displaying signs of—

His thoughts were interrupted by Ford: "Dipper, where is Cipher?"

"I don't know, use Stan's phone and text him," he said dismissively, not taking his eyes off of Mabel. Gently urging her, he asked, "Mabel, what's going on?"

"It's Pacifica," she choked, struggling to get the words out. Dipper held his breath, awaiting the worst as he gripped her hand to be reassuring. A breakup, a  _death_? "She talked to her dad, an-and he won't let her move out. H-he said he didn't want her living with a gangster, that it was too-" a mournful sob, "too dangerous with the new mayor."

"...Oh." That wasn't what he'd been expecting at all, but he was glad it wasn't something more serious, more permanent or emotionally devastating. Nevertheless trying to be supportive and comforting, he said with a frown, "Wow, Mabel. I'm really sorry about that." If it was this upsetting to Mabel, the reason itself didn't matter; he was a good brother and wanted to be there for her.

Likely fueled by uncertainty, Stan decided that was an opportunity to ditch because he was standing up, muttering something about how he wasn't needed anymore.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she cried. "It's so _unfair_."

"I know. That sounds horrible," he murmured, scooting over to hug her. For a few seconds, he lingered there, wishing he knew how to make this better but having no idea how to approach it. On the tip of his tongue was an apology for not being home sooner, he regretted leaving if it meant he could've been around to comfort her.

"I want to join the Owls too, but how can I do both when her dad refuses to let her go?" Knots formed in his stomach as he processed that, wondering if Preston's reason was anything more than an excuse. Pacifica's safety hadn't been in his priorities before, he didn't know why now.

Rubbing circles onto her back, he exhaled slowly. "If you still want to join the Owls, you could do it and see if he changes his mind?" he offered but knew the solution was weak. "Or, she  _is_  an adult, Mabel. This sucks a lot, but Pacifica can make her own decisions. Preston doesn't own her."

"He controls her financially," she managed through her tears. "And he said if she tried to leave, he'd call it a kidnapping or a domestic abuse case so he could justify being a prick about it and bringing her back."

Dipper tensed, blurting, "Holy shit, that sounds super abusive on his part." And very illegal, but when had the Los Santos police been known to be moral about anything? If Preston was set on this, it would be hard to get Pacifica away from him since he was in control of law enforcement and could easily find her again. "That's seriously horrible. Do you guys have any idea what to do?" Hopefully they did, because he didn't- he wasn't sure where to begin with this mess.

Mabel shook her head, breaking back into sobs. "Sh-she wanted to leave San Andreas, but he'd make it out like she was kidnapped by me with that too and make it national news. There's nothing we can do."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, aware he'd said it before but felt it was worthy of repeating when there wasn't much else to say on it. Preston could change his mind about it someday, he couldn't keep Pacifica under his control forever, but Dipper didn't want to make empty, unsupported promises to Mabel about the future when he didn't know. He respected her too deeply to outright lie about thinking it would turn out alright, or belittle her problems by saying she should be glad they weren't being forced to break it off. Wishing to be sure, he inquired, "Can you still see her as usual?"

"I can," she confirmed through her tears. "But I really wanted this, Dippy."

Her pain was felt through her words, and it made his chest constrict with overbearing sympathy. Dipper lamented, "I know you did, and I wish he wasn't making it so hard for you two. I… I get that this might not help right now, but if you need anything— I'm here, y'know?" Ranting, crying, whatever the occasion, he'd be in Mabel's corner.

"Do you really mean that?" she murmured sadly. "I thought you'd be happy about this, since… I won't be leaving you now."

"That would be messed up," Dipper said with a deep frown, the admission creating uneasiness in him. "Yeah, I'm upset for you. You're crying in front of me, Mabel. There's no way I'd be celebrating that, even if I was sad about your decision to move out." He'd had time to think it over, to process, to envision what life would be like without living together. It would probably be… tolerable, and he'd come to accept it. Dreading the day was different than wishing she wouldn't be happy.

Mabel sniffled, falling against his side with a sob. "I can't believe we're not allowed to move in together. I know it sounds dumb, but it's sometimes like the world is against us."

"I think it's just Preston," he pointed out, then sighed. "I don't know, Mabel. I guess you might be able to move in together if you don't join the Owls, but…" the issue was, Dipper had a feeling she wanted to do both, and there was no reason—besides Preston's ridiculous one—that she couldn't. It was asking her to sacrifice one source of happiness for another when it was unnecessary. With his hand trailing over her back once more, he mumbled, "There doesn't seem to be much you can do about this right now, not until Pacifica can gain financial freedom from that creep."

Tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, Mabel resumed sobbing into him and occasionally managed a sorrowful sentence or two, and he continued to soothingly touch her back. While the sun sank deeper into the sky and created shadows in the penthouse, the sobs eventually died down and gave way to less erratic breathing, then her body slowly relaxed as she caved into sleep. Dipper didn't blame her, assuming she was exhausted after crying for who knew how long.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed before the main door opened and Bill stepped into the room, two mugs of coffee in hand. "Pine Tree," he greeted softly, and Dipper craned his neck to bring him into view. "I brought you something." He had a guess that something was a coffee treat, which he was thankful for, but it wasn't without a pinch of stress since he knew they had to talk about earlier.

"Hi," he greeted, eyes flicking to Mabel and back to Bill. "Try not to wake her, okay? She's… It's kind of been a rough day." And forcing her from sleep seemed like a bad idea when she could use the rest. Sleepless nights were undoubtedly ahead.

"I'll try not to," Bill responded, looking guilty as he set the coffee on the table in front of him. "Sorry."

Dipper's attention was caught by that, and he stiffened, unsure, perplexed by the apology combined with the guilt. "W-why?" he asked, but it was more like a scared demand as he snatched up the coffee and struggled to remove the lid, terrified. Thoughts of  _that_ had scooped him into their grasp, full-force, and he was irrationally worried Bill had done something. The conditions seemed too similar, and he could hardly breathe, much less calmly think about how Bill had promised he'd never do it again.

As he peered to Bill, the look of guilt on his features rapidly changed to surprise, then hurt. "You think I'd do that… after I told you I wouldn't…?" Bill shook his head, stepping away from the table, back toward the door. Sensing where this was going, Dipper slowly maneuvered himself from under Mabel, luckily managing to slip away without disturbing her. "I.. I was apologizing for earlier, I didn't…" he trailed off, turning his head away from him.

"No, I'm sorry—  _Bill_!" The last bit was a hiss as he fought to close the distance without being too loud about it. Miserably, he pleaded, "Don't leave. I can't… I'm just really sorry, I can't control those thoughts, and how you were acting, it… freaked me out, okay? I know you wouldn't do that again."

"Do you?"

" _Yes_ ," he stressed through a huff, almost wanting to collapse in on himself because he hated this, hated how his horrible traitor of a mind worsened situations. Recovering was impossible when his cognitions were determined to push against his efforts every step of the way. Dipper's pace gradually halted, and he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, averting his gaze downward as he admitted, "If I thought you would do it again, we wouldn't be together anymore."

"I don't understand you, Pine Tree. I wish I did, but… it's like for a brief moment, everything feels fine, then.. it's not. I still, I don't know, I don't know what I did in the car."

"Can we talk in our— your bedroom?" Dipper asked with a motion toward the door. "So we don't have to be so quiet." It was hard, minimizing to near-whispers to one another as they tried to avoid waking Mabel.

"Okay."

Snatching the coffee, Dipper briskly walked into the bedroom and waited for Bill to join him before closing the door with a light  _click_. Then, there was a moment in which they stared at each other, and he was regretting this, fearing he should've let Bill leave because it was evident they were both uncomfortable.

"Well…" he started with a cough into the crook of his elbow. "I can't really blame you, for not understanding me, I mean. I don't understand myself either." These past three months had been an overwhelming, non-stop maze to navigate. There were easier times, rougher times, everything in between as he restructured his life.

Dipper couldn't refrain from pacing as he tried to elaborate, "I keep having these horrible thoughts when we're together and sometimes it's easier to manage than other times, and those times I completely freak out— and I can't do anything about it. I don't know what it is. It's like… you're not my boyfriend but the selfish asshole that drugged me that night and… I guess it's hard to cope, knowing you're sort of the same person." 'Sort of' accounting for the fact that Bill had put in efforts to change, and they were noticeable.

"It's not just about that," Bill said. "It's about the engraving shit."

Again threading his free hand through his hair, rather violently this time, Dipper exhaled in frustration with himself. "I was uncomfortable," he said, "because of the… uh, argument or discussion or whatever that was. I didn't want to talk about the rifle anymore." Or talk to Bill in general, since those thoughts were hanging onto him like poisonous hooks in his flesh.

Pausing near Bill in his pacing, he mumbled, "After you ...I don't know, made fun of me for being intrigued by the engraving, it was easier to stop altogether before things got worse."

Bill frowned at him. "I didn't think it was a big issue," he admitted. "It felt like a minor jab to me."

"I guess," he relented. "It's just… you said I was obsessed, like that was a bad thing or it was a stupid subject to be intrigued by." It'd hit a sore spot from being told he was an overthinker and looked too far into points of interest, other people in his life laughing at his habits of rabbit-hole researching. Heart sinking, he stopped pacing to sit on the edge of the bed, hunched over into himself and admitting, "It felt dismissive." Particularly when they didn't know where they stood with one another, playful remarks could easily turn into accidentally-hurtful comments.

"Oh," Bill murmured. "So… I was inconsiderate of your emotions, I see. I'm sorry, Pine Tree. I shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, not a big deal honestly." Flopping back against the bed, Dipper stared through the skylight, glad this wasn't morphing into a tedious conversation that'd cost hours of their lives when he'd rather spend it on better terms. "Thanks for the apology." Didn't matter anymore and likely wouldn't be an issue, so Dipper didn't know what else to say about it. He didn't think he wanted to bring up the rifle's engraving again, now fearful of boring Bill with the topic or otherwise coming off as.. obsessed.

Bill shifted, feet scuffing the carpet as his expression of guilt grew. "I keep fucking shit up, Pine Tree. If it weren't for me, none of this bullshit would've happened. You'd be happy, you wouldn't think of me as some fucker who dismissed your interest, or someone you can't trust." His instinct was to wince at the reminder of their underlying problems, likely the reason many of the tiny issues became sizable rifts between them. The words were too familiar, and he felt gross as shivers climbed his spine, connecting this to the recent problems they were trying to wade through. It was enticing to resume pacing, but he wasn't sure the tightness in his chest would allow for a comfortable experience, and he remained motionlessly splayed on the bed. "I've been making shit worse, haven't I, Pine Tree?"

There was a pause, then he lied, "No."

"You're a shitty liar."

"Guess we're back to being equal on the 'fuck up' level," he commented idly, aiming for amused but coming across as a little tired. It'd been an exhausting day, one he wished would wind to a close.

"How?" Bill's voice weakened. "You tried to lie to make it that way, but it's nothing compared to all the damage I've done, that I keep doing."

Propping himself up to lean on his elbows, Dipper surveyed Bill, who was still standing by the door like he didn't know what to do with himself. "It'll be tough until we both feel comfortable with each other again, but it's—" he paused to take in a gentle breath, "it's okay, it'll eventually be okay." They'd have to take things slowly for a while, get a new feel for boundaries. Although he didn't say it aloud, he didn't think the  _other_ element in this would ever be erased, no amount of time would smooth that over permanently. "I know things are rough," he admitted, then smiled lopsidedly, "but if you feel like you keep damaging me or this relationship, then I have some  _excellent_  advice for you."

"Better not tell me to stop."

The smile widened. "I mean, it's a very effective method. Five out of five star-doctors agree." And those star-doctors were not at all trained psychologists, but they probably acted like they were at every chance to do so.

Bill glanced at him, a small grin at the corner of his mouth, which induced a flurry of excitement in Dipper. It'd been a while since he'd seen Bill genuinely happy. "You little shit."

Flopping onto the pile of pillows, he shot Bill a wink before stretching, the motion reminding him of his sore throat and still-recovering injury, the latter barely bothering him anymore. But his throat… he instinctively clammed up as he recalled the confrontation earlier and the ensuing feelings of gutting sadness.

"Pine Tree?" Bill stepped toward him. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I don't know." Dipper wondered if he would call him out for lying again, this time much less intentional. Deciding he wouldn't give Bill the chance, he amended the answer, "No. There's… it's just— I— I sort of hate my life," it sounded melodramatic as hell, and despite the tone, found himself laughing at it. "Wow. I hope you're ready to invest in some bath bombs and knee-high socks, because I guess you're dating an angsty thirteen-year-old."

"Is this when you tell me you read books about vampires who glitter?"

"You're being a hater! Those books are my everything," he mock-sobbed, "and you don't understand."

Bill managed to keep a straight face. "Ah yes, let's jump off a cliff together and let Shooting Star think we're dead. It'll be so fun, and I'll rip off my shirt randomly too!"

"That's the only way the world will be accepting of our love," he replied. "That's so  _romantic_ , running away and dying together like Romeo and Juliet. Hold on, let me update my Myspace profile before we show everyone how pure our bond is—"

"Great stars, when did we go into the past?" From how Bill asked, it seemed he was done reliving the cringe and wanted to move on, which Dipper couldn't agree more with.

"Still kind of want those knee-high socks," he mumbled under his breath jokingly, but exhaled as he tried to conjure a decent approach to the subject, aware it wouldn't be an easy conversation. "But seriously, yeah. Everything's been kind of awful lately." 'Lately' loosely describing everything after the murders, but it was especially relevant again.

Bill frowned. "Yeah, I don't think I've been too helpful with that, Pine Tree."

"Our relationship's been… stressful," the word was hushed, but he didn't elaborate when Bill already knew that, was painfully in the loop. "But today, when Robbie and I were in that alley, he said some things? He mentioned my parents, being the reason they were dead, and everything… got worse." The last bit was choked out as the remnants of grief flooded him, and Dipper curled in on himself. "It's been hard to stop thinking about it." This familiar battle inflicting fresh wounds had him skidding into the cycle of self-loathing, fearing he was taking too long with this, wondering if it'd ever leave him alone.

"Oh." Bill furrowed his eyebrows, his frown deepening. "I can understand that. I wish I could do... more." Dipper didn't know how he could when he wasn't sure what  _he_ should do to move on. The grief came in waves, growing less frequent and not quite as intense as they were initially, but they continued to batter him. Losing half of his family had been traumatizing, paralyzing.

What Bill said had his mind working, at least giving him some sort of distraction. " _Can_  you understand that?" he asked with knitted brows as he flicked his eyes to Bill's. "Like, I'm not trying to say you don't, but I'm curious. You…" his throat felt dry and compressed as if it was being squeezed in Robbie's grip. "You killed your parents."

"I know it upsets you," Bill offered. "My.. relationship with my own was far from positive, but I know yours was." He shrugged, and he gracefully moved toward the bed. "I think about them sometimes, I guess, but it's nothing you'd want to hear."

"Oh? What do you think about?" he inquired, trapped in the midst of his thoughts as he closed his eyes, but he could feel Bill's weight shifting through the mattress. Fleetingly, he wasn't sure if he craved Bill's touch or if it would be better if distance was kept, but he guessed he'd leave it up to Bill to choose if they found out or not.

"Well, sometimes it varies. It's mostly about how I wish I killed them in a different manner." From how Bill talked about the experience, Dipper could picture the thoughtful expression resting on his face, but it made his frame raise inward with discomfort. Killing parents probably wasn't the best discussion topic when he was struggling through the loss of his. "Like I said, nothing you'd want to hear."

"Yeah, you were right." That didn't make him feel better in the least, didn't even provide an ounce of relief. In an attempt to bar him from continuing, Dipper asked, "Were they good people?"

"They killed my dogs," he sounded bitter. "How could dog-murderers be good people?"

"I don't know, but it's not always going to be black and white." Opening his eyes again, Dipper noticed Bill wasn't far from him now but there was still space between their bodies, intentional space.

Which, he determined, he didn't need to acknowledge unless Bill wanted to. Clearing his throat, he returned to an earlier, incomplete conversation, "Mabel's moving out, and that's been… tough for me. Us, kind of." The resulting complications swarmed him, and he shuddered as he remembered Mabel's heartbreaking cries. "Well, she wants to move, but Preston is being a controlling asshole about it."

That seemed to garner Bill's interest. "Is he? What's Money Bags doing?"

"I guess he's in charge of her financials, and he's threatened tracking her down if she goes ahead with moving out." It was an abusive move, a blatant power trip, and Dipper felt horrible for both Pacifica and his sister, being caught in a volatile position. "He doesn't want her living with Mabel because she's a gangster, and it's 'too dangerous' under this mayor."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Bill asked. "I can probably convince the ol' chief to think otherwise."

Quirking an eyebrow, Dipper skeptically clarified, "By 'talk' do you actually mean talk? Because if you're going to kill him, I'm not interested." It wouldn't make anything better, though it might resolve the immediate problem. "Look, if you're willing to do it, I guess that'd be nice. I don't want Mabel to be unhappy, a-and…" his voice wavered, "she was  _sobbing_ earlier, it was pretty bad. I didn't know what to do."

A laugh escaped Bill. "I'm not going to kill him! I'm.. going to have a quick chat with him, get him to sing a different song. Don't worry, Pine Tree."

"If you're sure." Dipper wasn't. "Just don't make anything worse than it already is for them." It reminded him that he should be there when she woke, whenever that was, ready to extend whatever emotional support that he could.

"I won't. I'll fix this for Shooting Star, though she hasn't done much for me lately." He reached, putting his hand over Dipper's, and that little display of affection was enough to provide the precise amount of comfort he'd been looking for. It was a gentle, loving reassurance that everything would sort itself out, and he'd have Bill's support to help him through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We're approaching one of the final major plot points, and the next update will be Sunday. :)
> 
> If you want to read more of our stuff in the meantime, have a shameless plug for our ultra-spooky [Halloween oneshot](https://glovesforthis.tumblr.com/post/179606836647/a-fluffy-silly-billdip-oneshot-that-my-cowriter) and [other longfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089773/chapters/37576979), which will be updated this week.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): sex

Fucking finally, they were doing something that’d have a lasting impact on Los Santos. It wasn't another pointless heist conjured by Stan, this was writing history– the mayor's reputation would be permanently tarnished, and Bill knew they wouldn’t receive much trouble from the cops when this was a specific request, a favor. It was what Preston wanted in return for letting Pacifica and Mabel live together, an accommodation Bill understood as more of a bargaining chip than an actual issue. As the police chief, everyone knew he and his daughter were invincible in the eyes of the law, so having a non-corrupt mayor in office was a mere inconvenience, not a danger to her safety.  “Pine Tree,” he gently called into their bedroom, “are you ready to go?” This was a solo mission, one they couldn’t tell Big Daddy or Mama Hen about given the nature of the request and to ensure the Owls wouldn’t be profiting off of his brilliance. They'd stolen his glory too many times, and he didn't need their assistance.

There was a half-groaning noise from Dipper, an 'augh' sound that captured the hour of the morning, which said a lot when this kid was a morning person. Hunched over, his clothes were wrinkled, hair was messy, and his dark eyes bore a need for sleep. Although he nodded, he followed that up by mumbling, "I don't see why we have to do this now."

“Why wouldn’t we be doing this now? No one’s going to be awake, it’s the perfect opportunity.” He couldn’t help it, he was looking forward to fucking up this bitch legally, playing the long con.

"There are twenty-four hours in a day, most of them would've been better choices than this one," he said dryly, scuffing his foot on the carpet as he adjusted his clothing. "Do we need anything? Combat vests, supplies?" In response, Bill shook his head. With their plan, weapons or protective gear wouldn’t be necessary, and he already had the forged documents ready courtesy of Preston.

Unless the mayor herself showed up, this would go off without a hitch. “You don’t need anything besides the clothes on your back,” he told him, grabbing his blazer and rolling his shoulders to situate it. “And you can take those off, too." Dipper's expression flattened, but he couldn't hold it when he succumbed to a yawn, rubbing his eyes. "You look better without them.”

"It is way too early for this."

“Never too early to make you swoon.”

Under any other circumstances, Bill would never have allowed eating in one of his magnificent vehicles, much less when it was a crumbling frosted pastry like Dipper had in his stupidly tiny hands. Watching him in the corner of his vision made his eye twitch with displeasure, but who was he kidding? He couldn't deny the kid and his Pop-Tart obsession.

Still.. seeing the crumbs fall from the pastry, knowing it was piling up on his carpet.. it was _maddening_ , and he internally squirmed at the thoughts. Why couldn’t Pine Tree have done this somewhere else? His car didn’t deserve this hell.

Dipper stuffed another piece into his mouth, leaning against the passenger seat as he curled inward, somehow deciding it was best to spread the crumbs _everywhere_. "Jeez, don't freak out." Another bite, more crumbs. "I'm almost done, and I'll clean it up later if it bothers you. I didn't know you weren't going to give me time to eat before we did this."

“I told you we had to go soon,” Bill muttered, tensing as more crumbs fell. “If you wanted food you should’ve gotten up earlier. My car’s a mess now.”

"I'm sorry," he said blankly. "I already promised I'd clean it once we're back since I know it annoys you. I can stop if you want…?" No, because then his car would’ve been tainted for nothing. Those piles of crumbs on the floor… created for nothing, all because the kid decided to stop eating. What if the half eaten pastry made more of a mess when he tried to stash it in the wrapper?

It’d be worse if he stopped eating because he was in too far to make a difference, and Bill couldn’t help but tense more at the thought. The interior of his car would need to be deep cleaned due to this. “Finish the damn Pop-Tart.” Dipper shifted uncomfortably and shoved the rest of the pastry into his mouth, appearing sheepish while he turned away toward the passenger window. His cheeks were puffed at awkward angles, jaw working as he tried to chew and swallow down the food.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing.” Did he want to make a bigger mess if he started to choke on the damn thing?

There were several seconds of Dipper simply struggling with the Pop-Tart before he managed to gulp it over the course of a few attempts. "I don't know, I was trying to stop being the reason you were irritated."

He hadn’t been irritated, the thought of the food spraying all over the carpet and seat of his car had been making him anxious, and it didn’t help when he could _see_ the crumbs fall. “If you had choked, that wouldn’t have helped at all.”

"Yeah, if I choked on the Pop-Tart and suffocated, there wouldn't have been anyone to clean your car later," Dipper said with the tiniest of huffs, but Bill could tell he wasn't genuinely upset. "At least you'd have something to threaten your next significant other with: the last one that ate in my car died."

“No one would replace you, Pine Tree.” As uncomfortable as crumbs decorating his car was, he still liked his Pine Tree immensely. Loved him, except he was a dumbass who couldn't put that into words.

"Really?" Dipper peered quizzically at him, then lowered his gaze to the floor as if he was scanning over the crumbs himself. "I think you could find someone who didn't eat in your car, and the rest will take the threat seriously." Bill spared him a glance, confusion painting it.

Why would he get a new Pine Tree? He still enjoyed the company of Dipper, even when he was a little shit. “Nah. Hey,” he moved to change the subject, “we should be there soon.”

"Oh," he hung onto the word for a moment, then continued with a shrug, "that's good. I basically have no idea what we're doing, just that it's a favor for Preston and we're not mentioning it to Stan or anyone?" His voice quieted. "I hope Mabel appreciates this. I want her and Pacifica to be happy."

“We’re going to be removing the mayor from office,” Bill said, unable to mask the sadistic, power-tripping glee in his voice as he talked over Dipper's protest of 'I knew _that_.' “We’re not _killing her_ , but we are going to plant incriminating documents that make it look like she’d been laundering money during the election. Preston will be taking care of the rest.” Stan and Ford didn’t need to know jack. This didn’t concern them. “Don’t tell anyone about this, Pine Tree.”

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not going to tell anyone. Ruining someone's career," he said through a yawn, "what a typical Monday for you and me. That's nice, though— not the career-ruining, but that we're not killing her. I don't want to do that." Seconds of deliberation passed, marked with a gentle hum. "Does this mean it'll be safer to do heists now? Stan's been kind of paranoid about the mayor and Preston, so I figured that meant you didn't inform him of your… uh, connections."

“Relatively.” Probably, at the very least. Without the mayor breathing down their necks, their jobs should run smoother, and it would boost Stan's confidence in the bank job, a bonus for both of them. Quite frankly, it was a shame Preston hadn't asked for this sooner, but he guessed he had to create enough fabricated evidence of her crimes on his end. “I wouldn’t let your guard down, though.”

"I won't," he promised. "I know Stan's still planning his big bank heist idea. That sounds like it could have a decent payout, if everything goes according to his plan." Oh yes, indeed, he was looking forward to it. It was considerably more dangerous than any of their previous missions, and although unbeknownst to them, it was the perfect opportunity to take over the Owls.

Stan and Ford’s time would be over. “I can’t wait,” he told Dipper. “That heist’ll be a blast.” In a few ways, but he wasn’t going to waste time dreaming about it when they'd arrived at their building. He parked by the curb, killing the engine before he stepped out of his vehicle. “Let’s be fast, Pine Tree.” They still had the cover of night for a while, though the sun was beginning to lighten the landscape with morning skies.

Behind him, he heard the passenger door slam, and feet scuttling over concrete until Dipper was at his side. "Okay. I still don't know what my job is in this heist. Am I here to keep you company?" Not exactly, but he didn’t need to know this was how Bill planned on getting him acquainted to the general concept of keeping things from Stan and Ford. They didn’t need those two leading. Old men would only hold them back.

“Sure, cutie. You’ll also be my lookout while I’m planting the document, in case someone decides to show up. Sound good?”

"Sounds good. I'm sure I'll be an amazing lookout at five in the morning because I'm totally alert and ready to spring into action if something is going wrong." This was quickly becoming the last time he was going to wake Dipper before his standard routine started, the kid was filled with excess sarcasm somehow. Must sleep it off during those extra few hours of rest every morning.

Approaching the building, Bill used his elbow to smash in the glass of the door, immediately setting off an alarm in the lobby area. Bill didn’t care, he knew Preston would make sure the police force's response was delayed, and he stepped through the broken glass to enter the building. “Come on, doll!”

"Are you sure you were supposed to do that?" Dipper asked, sounding on edge, leaning toward frantic as he followed after. Despite what he said about being sleepy, he looked plenty awake now. "What if the police show up?! I know Preston's in on this," it was a hiss as he caught up, "but I'm guessing the entire force isn't."

“No one’s going to crash our party,” Bill disregarded his concerns with a wave of his hand. “Preston will handle the police response, alright? He’s personally investigating the supposed break in, he'll ' _scare off_ ' the perpetrator but happens to find the ‘evidence’ on the mayor's desk. We'll be long gone.” Security footage would've been a minor concern, but he knew the force would very unfortunately lose the tapes.

"Oh." Then, it seemed to click, a sudden realization sweeping across his face, a nod to show he understood. " _Oh_. Got it. So where do you want me to be the lookout, and what am I looking for? Is there someone around?" It was five in the morning, if someone was around they had nothing better to do with their life. Bill wasn’t too concerned about it.

Leaving the lobby with Dipper in tow, Bill made his way down the hallway and toward the staircase. “For our convenience, you’ll be located close to me. There shouldn’t be anyone around, but having you on lookout duty is a precaution. I’ll tell you where you’ll be stationed when we get up there.”

It took several flights of stairs to get to the right floor, and Bill led him further through the new hallway. “Stay here,” he told him as they reached where the hall sharply turned right. “Let me know if you see anyone. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Dipper's pace gradually slowed to a stop, and he glanced at his surroundings as he agreed, "Okay."

Bill wasted no time in getting to the door of the mayor’s office. It was no surprised to him when it was locked, and he rustled it, the sound hollow. Cheap, loose, he could conclude and backed off, solely so he could charge the door with his shoulder, bashing into it. It popped open with a _BANG_ , and Bill stumbled into the room. It was magnificent, how easy it was to bust into the building and room, but he knew it was the result of poor construction and shoddy materials.

Moving toward the desk, Bill pulled the documents from the inside of his jacket and slid them onto the top of the stack of papers. It was in plain view, the yellow post-it note on top of it stating ‘Need to initiate this transaction ASAP’ in forged handwriting to let Preston know it was the right paper.

Smirking to himself, Bill turned his attention to scan the office for anything of interest. Most of the contents were junk to him, useless books and knick-knacks, but a small, gold-colored clock caught his attention, and he grabbed it and slipped the item into his pocket. Sweet, an object for his collection. It’d go nicely with the golden lion statue.

Before he left, he gripped one of the bookshelves and pulled it down, sending the contents crashing to the floor. While he was at it, he did something similar to the filing cabinets– taking the drawers and dumping them out. Creating the scene of the robbery was an additional layer of realism, but Bill took pleasure in knowing this would worsen her quality of life since that's what she had done for him by plucking off valuable gangs from the streets.

Now he could leave, and he stepped out of the office to rejoin his Pine Tree. “Cutie,” he greeted him happily. “Quiet out here?”

Somewhere between amused and incredulous, he replied, "No. Have you gone deaf from the alarm or something?" Dipper gravitated closer to him, checking with rapid glances as if worried the police would be busting in any second. "Can we go? What took you so long?"

“I redecorated her office a bit, made it look like a robbery.” Bill stepped past him, heading down the hall to leave. “Let’s go, sugar.”

One person in a position of power down, one to go.

* * *

Bill woke to the rhythmic sound of feet padding over his carpeted flooring, and a barely-conscious mind deduced Dipper was the culprit. The bed was suspiciously cold, and it wasn't unusual for him to wake first whenever they napped together. Maybe a nightmare, maybe feeling restless, he didn't know. “Pine Tree?” he mumbled, raising his head to glimpse the pacing figure of his boyfriend. “Come back to bed, cutie. You’re gonna wear holes into the carpet.”

"Oh, you're awake?" Whirling around but continuing to pace, Dipper stared at him as if trying to read his expression, probably evaluating whether he was serious about coming back to bed. His distracted pacing had him bumping into the dresser, and he made a soft _mmph_ noise as the wood clanked against the wall from the force of the collision. Peering at the dresser, his hand smoothed over the rifle that still rested there, and if Bill knew the kid, that was likely the spot Stan or Ford had set it for Dipper to never pick it up again. Giving Dipper a gun had been a dumb idea, but he didn't expect any better from ol' sentimental Stan. "I almost forgot about this," he admitted, _finally_ settling on the edge of the bed. "A while ago, you said something about the engraving?"

“What about it?” Bill slowly shuffled, trying to weasel over to Dipper so he could steal his warmth, which Dipper seemed to catch onto as he raised an eyebrow at the efforts. “You're that interested in finding out what it said?”

"I was— am," he corrected himself with a shrug, "but it wasn't the best time, and then you called it an obsession, so I… yeah." Dipper ended the sentence by basically falling into him, limbs splaying out as he stretched. Bill shifted, wrapping his arms tightly around his body and nuzzling his neck.

It was nice, being able to hold his Pine Tree like this. “Did you ever confirm to me if it said ‘Pines’ on it?” He didn’t remember, not that it mattered too much if it was the rifle he thought it was.

A thoughtful, melodic noise drifted through the room as Dipper thought, squirming in his grasp so they were facing one another. His eyes were bright, attentive. "Yeah, it says 'Pines' but the scratched off part before it— Stan said my name was misspelled, but I don't know, he acted weird about it. I thought it had something to do with Mav?" It was said hesitantly, almost like he was trying to bait him into an informative answer again.

Bill couldn’t help but chuckle, finding amusement in his search for answers. “It says ‘Honorary Pines', and it’s for Mav.” He didn’t know exactly how much Dipper knew of Mav, but he wasn’t going to give him an unnecessary history lesson if he didn’t have to. “Stan doesn’t want you to know he didn’t have it engraved for you.”

"Honorary Pines," he repeated, but he appeared skeptical of this from the way his fingers drummed on his collarbone, the little tilt of his head. "Are you sure it was for Mav and not for me? I mean, I don't know why it'd be 'honorary' since I'm actually a Pines but… what?"

“It was for him,” Bill said, still amused, and he only appeared more perplexed. “Stan gave it to him a long time ago as… a gift with the engraving on it. I wouldn’t look too into it, Stan’ll bitch about how you can’t ‘talk about him’ or some bullshit.”

"I know, I've tried talking to Stan about him, but he doesn't really say much. He was a pacifist, I guess? Asexual." With a glance toward the rifle, he turned back to him and said, "You do realize Pines is literally my last name, right? That's why this is super weird. Are you _completely sure_ it says 'Honorary Pines', like you're not joking about that?" Did he not believe him? The last name didn’t matter, a lot of people shared one.

If Pine Tree kept it up, he’d get some acid and show him the original engraving. “I’m more than sure. If you don’t believe me, I can restore the marking and show you.”

"But… _why_?" he pressed, visibly moving from confusion to fretting. "What did it even mean? Why would they have that engraved on a rifle?"

“Why do you care? Just because ‘Pines’ is in the name doesn’t make it about you. That’s like saying ‘Mason’ is _your_ name, therefore any mention of it concerns you. People share names. It’s a coincidence.” Not really, but Mr. Fretful didn’t need to know about that.

"It's a weird coincidence and doesn't explain the 'honorary' part," he mumbled. "It doesn't seem like it's that popular. I've never met anybody with the same last name, and— oh, maybe it's a joke? Because my parents were politicians? I don't know, I don't get why _that_ would be engraved on something twenty years ago, before they were in office because nobody knew who they were."

Oh, but Stan had, and from Bill’s understanding the crew at that time knew Mav quite well. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you,” he huffed. Dipper's curiosity faded into displeasure as it occurred to him that this subject wasn't getting elaborated on. “I wasn’t here twenty years ago, I know what it says and that it was a gift to Mav. Ask Stan or Fordsy if you want to know more.” It was getting tiring, listening to him ramble about the engraving.  

Frowning, he said, "Fine, maybe I will. If our past conversations are any indication, I don't think they're going to tell me anything about it, though."

“You’d better.” It was funnier when Dipper wanted to know what the inscription said, not when he was pleading for answers Bill didn’t feel like giving. They were muddled in his memory, relayed via drunk Stan who was an unreliable source.  “Can we go back to bed now..? It’s too early to be up.” Noon or not, he needed his beauty sleep, and starting drama over the crew's past with Dipper’s father would ruin that. Maybe he’d do it later to watch the chaotic aftermath. “You can worry about your last name crisis later, then I’ll fix it by marrying you.”

"I guess I did kind of wake you." Dipper rolled off of him and settled on his side of the bed to stare at the skylight. "Also, I'm not having a _last name crisis_. I like my last name, I just don't know why it's on the rifle." Post-nap Dipper was feeling an extra dose of cruel, apparently, as he slipped in the comment, "Getting married wouldn't exactly 'fix' any of our problems anyway." Oof. He was glad Dipper wasn’t looking at him, he looked like he got punched. He knew their relationship hadn’t… improved significantly, but he was trying, and he thought some things were beginning to look up again. He guessed not. Maybe that two-timing bitch was right, he wasn’t marriage material, he never would be…

The dumb, off-handed remark that'd torn open his chest and smashed his heart was followed by a yawn and Dipper's soft mumble, "But it's not supposed to, either? Only a change in title, it's not like I would mind." There was a quiet laugh, and the bed shook gently with his frame. "You're probably asleep by now."

“I don’t know,” Bill muttered in response, failing to hide the sadness and bitterness in his voice. Dipper jumped, clearly not expecting him to be awake as he gave a little 'holy shit' under his breath. “I’m not really marriage material, I guess.”

There was some shuffling, and Dipper was facing him, examining his expression under a critical eye. "Uh, okay. If you're not marriage material, then why do you keep asking me to marry you?" Bill didn’t understand what his deal was. Didn’t he and Wendy say he wasn’t? He wanted to marry him so fucking badly, but it felt like it was hopeless, like he wasn’t worth marriage.  

Bill turned his head away, shifting so his body was facing the opposite direction. “I’m not the one who’s been saying it,” the bitterness hadn’t left him. “It’s been you and Red.”  

"I didn't say that!" Dipper protested, draping himself over his side to prevent an escape.  Bill made a sound of annoyance, trying to force himself over with no luck. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

“You said we were never getting married, and then Red said I wasn’t marriage material, and..” Now, that marriage wouldn’t fix their problems. Bill knew it wouldn’t have but he thought, maybe, it’d make them happier. Guess not.

"Yeah, I really don't remember that." It happened! Was Pine Tree so awful, that he’d pretend Bill was being unreasonable? He wasn’t fucking crazy.

Bill grumbled, moving onto his side despite having Dipper’s added weight roll with him. He scrambled to his elbows to rest more comfortably, but that dumb look was still on his face, that look that meant he was playing stupid. Or was stupid. “You did, you and fucking Red did that. I don’t know why I keep asking you– I know I want to, but do you? Really?”

"I seriously don't know what you're talking about." The strain in his voice suggested this was distressing him. "I never said you weren't marriage material, and I guess Wendy might have, but I wasn't there during the time you and her were… y'know, closer."

“You didn’t refute it. You.. let her say it, after you said we were never getting married. I can’t believe you.” He couldn’t help it, he felt hurt, betrayed. Why didn’t Pine Tree love him like he did?

A glimmer of recognition lit on his face. "Oh… you mean when the crew was talking about our relationship," he strung the pieces together aloud, then sighed. "There wasn't a lot of time to refute anything, since you jumped straight to telling Wendy off over it. But… I didn't mean it, not like that. I didn't like the crew talking about our wedding or whatever that conversation was when that's supposed to stay between us." Bill frowned, wishing he wasn’t pinned beneath Pine Tree, wishing it was easier to leave, wishing this didn’t hurt so badly. He wanted to have a good time, to jokingly tell Dipper they should get married, and that.. had been shot down when he told him it wouldn’t fix their problems.

“I’m not tired anymore,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Might as well get up.”

"Bill, don't." Dipper frowned, no longer holding his own weight and letting it settle into him as if that would hinder him from leaving. That seemed to be exactly his intentions when he maneuvered himself fully on top, grabbing fistfuls of his star-sheets. "It's not that I don't want to marry you, or that I don't think you're 'marriage material', okay? I don't believe in that, but I do know you think marriage is this magical solution to our problems, and… it's not." Eyes growing glassy, he choked out, "So if you marry me, you'll be disappointed when our issues don't disappear."

It was frustrating he couldn’t get up, not when Dipper was determined to flail on top of him to keep him down. “I don’t think like that,” he protested, frowning. "I don't know. Suggesting marriage wasn't that serious, but I thought you'd roll with it better. I wasn't expecting this shit."

"Oh," he said, leaning onto his thighs to awkwardly rub his arms, "I didn't know you were joking. Sorry."

“About the ...actually getting married,” Bill had to clarify, wondering if his previous statement was understood. “I _want_ to marry you, but it’s not a good time, it won’t improve our relationship…” he shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I…" he trailed off, eyes everywhere except on him. Coughing, Dipper clasped and unclasped his hands, shifted his weight, the whole nine yards of fidgeting before he managed, "I get it. Same here. I'm, uh, glad we're in agreement on that." Beneath him, Bill shuffled more, a low whine in his throat. The added weight was beginning to produce discomfort, and it didn’t help Dipper was dangerously close to kneeing his crotch. The fucker.

While the puzzled Dipper watched on, Bill tried to squirm out from under him to no avail, and he huffed. “Hey, cutie? Can you not have your knee try to murder my dick.”

"Oh!" He immediately repositioned, clumsy movements convincing Bill he was damn well going to get kicked regardless, but somehow that didn't happen as he widened his legs and finished wriggling atop him. "Hey, is that better?" Hardly. It wasn’t worth almost getting his bits crushed by an accidental kick.

Bill let out a small huff, scowling up at his boyfriend. “I was hoping there’d be more ‘getting off of me.’ I haven’t been digging you throwing yourself on me to hold me down for a while now.” Bill saw it, the moment of _fear-panic-worry_ flash in the depths of his eyes as his request registered, then the change was immediate.

"I— ah, sorry. Yeah, I'll move." Already, as he spoke, he was off of him and curling up on his side of the bed. A little concerning, Bill liked it when he was cuddly with him.

“What’re you doing over there, Pine Tree?”

Into the sheets, Dipper mumbled, "Kind of feeling self-conscious. Was I hurting you?" The pain he felt was probably from his fucking bones stabbing him, not that he’d tell Dipper that.

“No,” he assured him. “You didn’t hurt me, cutie.”

"Okay." It was a relief to feel his body relax and melt into the sheets, subtle evidence that he'd taken the words to heart. Good thing, too, sometimes that kid was stubborn as hell.

Bill scooted over on the bed, nuzzling his neck gently and relishing in the resulting shudder. “Let’s get up, Pine Tree." There was a light, dissenting noise, which was amusing when he'd been the one pacing the room. "We should eat, maybe get cozy on the couch…”

Craning his neck and twisting his upper half to pepper kisses over his neck, Dipper murmured, "Everyone's here today, I think." A pause as he scattered more kisses, voice lowering. "So… we can't really do much if you're equating 'cozy' with 'sex'." His sentence was ended with a gentle nip, his tongue grazing over the spot a moment later as if to soothe the bite.

“Would you be down for sex?” Bill teased, not believing he would be. He lifted his chin, giving Dipper more access to his neck, which he took advantage of greedily with more kisses and longer bites, these harsher and with no licks that followed. A tiny noise of affirmation rumbled in Dipper's throat as he worked over the abused skin, latching onto his shoulder with the obvious intention of leaving a mark.

He'd been getting better at it, attempts much more skilled than the first time he'd tried to give him a hickey, and a nod of approval cemented how pleased he was with himself. When his eyes met Bill's, Dipper smiled sheepishly, "I don't know, maybe. I've been kind of stressed with everything going on, so… it might help." Oh, well in _that_ case, Bill needed to show his Pine Tree a good time. Help him de-stress, make him fucking _moan_ his name.

“Cutie,” he hummed, shifting to move on top of him. In awe, Dipper's eyes widened at his new position, caught under him at his mercy, and his legs wrapped around his waist to cross over the small of his tattooed back. “I’m going to rip your pants off and make you squirm in pleasure.”

"Why does sexual stuff with you always sound vaguely threatening?" Dipper asked with a laugh, playfully pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Are we grinding? If we are, be careful because my leg is still sore."

That wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he gladly returned the kiss. “Actually, I wanted to finger you, doll.” If he couldn’t stick his dick in him, he’d settle for burying his fingers knuckle-deep.

Dipper's mouth went slack in surprise, surveying him with owl eyes. "You want to—" it was breathless, stunned, a jarble of words while his scrambled thoughts formed again. "I— okay, I'd like that, I think. We can try it." Hindsight bias aside, Bill always knew Dipper would be into the idea, his Pine Tree would be eager for a good finger-fucking.

Bill captured his lips and began to undo his pajama pants, pulling them down with his boxers to give him access to Dipper’s lower body once he'd lifted his hips to free the garments. “Let me know if you need me to stop, okay cutie? What’s our safeword?”

"Rhubarb, but that goes for you too if you're uncomfortable with something…" it was said with a definite warning, but then his expression softened, and Dipper admitted, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

“I’m not going to be uncomfortable,” he chuckled as he reached over to grab lube from his nightstand. Dipper's gaze followed him, and he tucked his legs inward, shifting on the bedsheets.

"We're, uh, rushing right into it then?"

Why wouldn’t they be? It seemed perfect, the ideal time to plunge into his Pine Tree. “Do you have an issue with that?”

"Seems sudden, I guess?" he explained with a shrug. "I don't mind, but I thought we'd..." his fingers thumped idly against the blankets, "do more foreplay, or something." Foreplay? Bill thought they could do a quickie, considering this likely wouldn’t end in _real_ penetration. His amazing dick wouldn’t grace Dipper’s ass for some time, if they kept going at this rate.

Bill looked at Dipper blankly, trying to decipher where he should begin. Foreplay wasn’t his forte, he was unaccustomed to this. He never really _foreplayed_ with a partner, never had a reason to. “Okay,” he said, hesitant. “I don’t know how.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Dipper seemed like he wanted to be amused but was too horrified and surprised to bother. "You… don't know how?" he questioned. "That's basically all we've been doing together during our friends with benefits thing, kissing… uh, touching, y'know. What happened to being a 'grand romantic'?"

“Don’t judge me,” he muttered, a pinch bitter though it wasn’t toward Dipper. “I don’t jump to kisses and touches when I’m about to do some finger-fucking.” He shuffled, moving so he was hovering over Dipper as he leaned down to kiss him. It was reciprocated, but broken early by the very person who'd voiced disagreement with going _too fast._

"Oh. Okay, we can move on, I guess?" Dipper asked as he drew lazy circles into the sheets. "I don't know how this is supposed to work, and you have experience, so you might have a better idea." His sole idea was pleasing his partner. Bill knew Dipper had wanted foreplay, so he wasn’t going to skip ahead into fingering him immediately.

He pressed another kiss against his lips and muffled the questioning noise, before he broke away to begin a line of kisses against his jawline. That was enough to draw a contented sigh from Dipper, feeling his rigid muscles go lax as the air slid from his lungs. Without giving him a chance to become too comfortable, Bill moved on to his throat, lightly nipping at the skin.

"Mm," he hummed, head tilting to allow him greater freedom, "that feels nice. You don't need to treat me like I'm glass, though."

“Do you want me to be rougher?” Bill mumbled in response, biting down and sucking on his neck. Dipper choked out a noise of pleasure, hands drifting over his shoulders and his nails digging into the skin with urgency.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed, "you made me confirm the safeword. Might as well be kind of rough about it."

Bill chuckled, his teeth grazing his neck before he began to nip and kiss it again, hard enough to leave marks. Dipper shuddered beneath him, and Bill felt tiny shifts in his position, attempts to expose more skin to him for the taking. “Gonna make you moan, Pine Tree.”

"Bill, we… we can't," he murmured urgently, eyes fluttering open to flick toward the wall connecting the main room. "If I'm loud, they're going to hear."

“Let them,” he growled, teeth sinking into his skin and eliciting a sharp squeal. It almost sounded pained, but he knew that Dipper would safeword if he felt his limit was being pushed.  “They can enjoy hearing you chant my name.”

A huff of a laugh filled the air, and he said, "I don't know. You haven't done anything worth chanting your name over yet." The kid could claim that all he wanted, talk the big talk, but they'd see how it played out eventually. His bets were on Dipper being finger-fucked until he was a moaning mess, begging for him.

“Give me a second, doll. You’ll be squirming in pleasure, pleading for more.” He planted a kiss against his lips, deepening it as he pushed his tongue into his mouth, and Dipper was stoking the flames of his desire with enthusiastic participation. The brush of their tongues, the force of their mouths pressing together with need, it escalated until Dipper broke the contact, panting softly.

The dazed expression was gorgeous. His flushed cheeks, eyes glazed with affection and lust, that lopsided smile. "Wow. We— it's… been a while," he commented but didn't allow a response, crashing his lips against his with recharged passion. His touch was electric as the hands on his back shifted over his shoulders, then threaded through his hair.

Bill tugged him closer eagerly while their tongues glided with practiced ease, and he nipped the tip of Dipper’s, beginning to slowly grind against his lower half. Dipper parted from the kiss enough to whine, " _Bill_." The plea of his name teetered on a moan, and _stars_ , he wanted to hear his name moaned like that, with such overwhelming need. "Please. C-can you…?" Fuck him senseless? Bill wanted to, so fucking badly, but he knew his Pine Sapling wasn’t ready. Not yet.

”What do you want me to do, Pine Tree?” he murmured, briefly leaving Dipper’s mouth to suck a hickey into his neck.

"Your fingers…? You were going to—" his words stopped abruptly with an impatient exhale, but it transformed into a sigh of pleasure as Bill tended to the growing mark. " _Come on,_ Bill. You know what we wanted to do."  Ah, so impatient. Bill loved it, wanted to leave him squirming to enjoy the view.

Bill scattered a trail of kisses over Dipper’s neck, before once more went for the lube on his nightstand. “Are you ready, cutie?”

"Yeah," he said, watching him with blown pupils. "Definitely ready, but… uh, y'know, go slow." Tipping his head against the pillows, Bill could admire the flush dashed across his cheeks and ears and shoulders, an incredible sight. A playful grin quirked his lips upward, and he warned, "I swear, if you intentionally tease me under the guise of going slow..." Squirting lube onto his fingers, Bill lined his digits up with Dipper’s entrance and slowly pushed one into him, sinking into his heat, feeling how he tried to avoid tensing.

“I’d never be so cruel,” Bill joked, beginning to thrust in and out of him when Dipper gave the slightest of encouraging nods to continue. “Sweetheart, I’m going to finger-fuck you nice and slow.”

"So— so you're going to tease me," he deduced through a sedated breath, and Bill noticed his walls were relaxing as he did, a morbidly fascinating detail. It was followed by involuntary fluttering as he squirmed. "That… feels weird. Good weird, but yeah. Wow."

Good weird? Bill continued to thrust into him, slipping in a second finger as he did. Dipper shifted his weight and made a small noise, but it was indistinguishable whether it was a product of pleasure or discomfort, though the latter seemed unlikely when the resistance hadn't been extreme. “You like that, sugar?” Bill did, he liked how tight his walls were, even when he was relaxed.

"I… ah," he paused to draw in a sharp inhale, scooting against the digits buried inside him, "it's pretty nice. It feels… like a lot, honestly. I didn't think it'd feel that _full_. How many of your fingers are in me, anyway?" Blinking in curiosity, Dipper inquired, "...What does it feel like for you?"

“Tight,” Bill hummed, and he smirked as that brought a blush to Dipper's face. “Warm, _inviting_. It’s like your body’s been wanting this, doll.” His fingers continued to thrust, picking up speed, and he was met with a gentle whimper. “I have two in you, by the way. I don’t want to stretch you too much, not yet.”

Eyebrows shooting up, he softly whispered an awed 'oh' before stiffening, and Bill felt light convulsions around his fingers, a suggestion the motions were beginning to move from "good weird" to pleasurable. "I mean, that's pretty accurate. I have been wanting this, been wanting _you_ to do this for a while now." As he spoke, it was through a quiet pant, and he tentatively took his length in hand, palming himself clumsily. "I hope you don't mind if I- if I do that, I just… It's starting to feel pretty nice." Bill chuckled. Of course it felt _nice_. If Dipper was less tight-legged, he would’ve learned long ago that sex felt fucking amazing, and Bill wanted to flood him full of pleasure.

He wanted him to be in a state of euphoria, and he kept up his pace with his fingers, seeking to rub against his prostate by curling them upward, an exploratory process. It wouldn’t feel like much now, but once he found it and Dipper was near his climax, it’d make him explode. Seemingly unaware of what he was doing, Dipper's eyes flicked to his and a question rested on the his tongue, likely about to ask why the movements had been swapped on him. “Don’t stop touching yourself,” he murmured, using his spare hand to stroke his own dick, and the sight appeared to have Dipper nearly drooling already. Bill wondered if he was fantasizing that it was his cock instead of his fingers inside of him. “I want to see you _burst_ , cutie.”

"Y-yeah," he managed, increasing the pace of his strokes, "I'm working on it. Getting— ah, _oh god—_  getting there. It's like it's building up and—" a high-pitched keening noise interrupted his words, and he felt Dipper grind back against him almost frantically in desperation for more friction. Bill wished he could provide him with the intensity they both desired, with his cock buried deep inside of him. "O-oh, wow. Oh god. It… feels f-fucking amazing, Bill. Don't stop, right there, _yes_..." he babbled with near incoherence, throwing his head against the pillows while his cheeks were burning with a brilliant crimson hue. His breath was catching, sounds strung out and broken. It went straight to his dick, and he ignored his cramping fingers to continue, feeling his own pleasure begin to build up.

“Still feeling good?” he questioned, panting. “I want you to cum, cutie.”

"I- I…" he sucked in a gulp of air, entire body erupting into tremors while he squeezed his eyes shut. With how his hips rolled and his breathing had turned erratic, Bill didn't expect the request that followed, "W-wait, can we stop? For a second?"

Confused, he briefly paused, though he didn’t withdraw his fingers. “What? Why?”

For the next several seconds, Dipper busied himself by relaxing against the sheets, chest heaving with exertion. Fully flushed and worked up, he looked undeniably attractive, positively _flustered_ , and Bill took pleasure in knowing he'd been the one to do that to him. "Sorry, I… thought something was wrong. It felt super intense, like too much— I was… was about to burst into flames or h-have a seizure or something. It's never been like that before."

“Prostate stimulation is different,” Bill gently reminded him. “It’s going to feel like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Enjoy it, relax.”

"So that's okay? Normal? It's supposed to feel like that?" Dipper asked, edging on disbelief. He was more alert than he'd seen throughout most of this particular exchange, and Bill smirked at the kid's curiosity. "It felt overwhelming, that's all. Awesome, but… a lot. Kind of wish I'd known that was an option before now, to be honest." Bill chuckled, resuming the internal massaging with his fingers. There was no reason to end the fun when his Pine Tree was fine.

“Enjoy yourself,” he repeated, aiming to kiss his cheek, but Dipper turned his head so their lips connected for brief contact. “Your body knows what to do, let it take control, cutie.” He curled his digits to locate and rub Dipper’s sweet spot, and the results were immediate, a moan spilling from his lips as the pleasure must have sprung to life within his trembling body.

" _Bill_ ," Dipper cried out, and he relished in the beautiful noise laced with adoration and the utmost of lust. Stars, he wasn't sure he'd ever heard anything more enticing. His hips fell into an involuntary rhythm as he chased his peak, choking down oxygen and gasping for more, volume escalating until he finally clenched and tensed, orgasming hard with a quivering whine. Bill couldn’t help it– the combination from the pleasure of stroking himself and Dipper’s climax sent him beyond the point of no return, and he came over Dipper’s stomach.

It was gorgeous, seeing how Dipper was coated in _them_ , and he lovingly nuzzled his boyfriend as he removed his fingers. Gradually, Dipper's breathing evened out and there was a glazed-over look in his eyes as he swept them downward, then to him. "That was... amazing," he murmured. " _You_ were amazing. I— I liked it, everything. I didn't know it could feel like that."

Bill chuckled, kissing his cheek. “We can do it again, sugar.” Not now, obviously, but later. He shuffled, removing himself from the bed to grab a cloth and clean him up, wiping away excess lube from his fingers. “How do you feel?” Dipper didn't move, merely continued to lay splayed, but curled into him when he reclaimed his spot on the sheets.

"Like I'm floating, or— or I don't know, I feel dizzy, but it's good," he tripped over his words as he tried to explain, but then nuzzled Bill. "Will it feel like that when we eventually…? Yeah."

“It’ll feel _better_ ,” he corrected him with a smirk. Nothing would beat his cock pounding into Dipper, feeling his tight walls squeeze him.

A quiet groan of "Jesus Christ" resounded in the sudden calm of the room, and he slanted his head upward to gently kiss his lips, followed by his neck. "Maybe I should invest in a scarf. I think you left a lot of marks earlier, when you were biting and stuff. Being rough with me felt really nice."

Pine Tree _wanted_ to cover up the marks? “I didn’t know you were going to cover up my marks,” he teased. “I should make them less discrete.”

"I don't _have_ to cover them, but I'm guessing there are quite a few…" he trailed off with a gentle laugh. "Everyone is going to know we've been making out and doing things together if I leave them visible. Is that what you want, people to know?"

“Well, obviously,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re mine, doll. They should know that.” And if they didn’t, they would now. “Do you not want people to know?”

Bill felt Dipper's shoulders rise and dip in a shrug, and he said, "I don't mind. I just don't like it when people pry about us," his voice grew hushed as if afraid of someone overhearing, "and I don't want Stan to become more suspicious. I think he believes there's something up." The amusement faded and his eyebrows furrowed. Dipper didn’t want people talking about them? Bill liked it when they gave him attention, wanting to know about their sex life. As long as they didn’t insult him.

As for Stan? He thought they were heterosexual life partners, nothing more. And he wouldn’t be around long enough to question their relationship further. “Don’t worry about Stan, cutie. He won’t be a problem much longer.” By the time he had spoken, Dipper's eyelids had drooped, and he seemed to be approaching sleep. That was fine, he’d find out later on what Bill had in store.

* * *

Hours trickled by, and it felt longer as Stan’s ‘mandatory’ meeting came to a wrap. After a decade of waiting, he was _finally_ making the younger twins official members of the gang, and now all they had to do was pick a word to add to the name of the Owls.

‘Mystery’ and ‘Unicorns’ were pretty fucking stupid additions. At least they grouped the dumb ones together in the layout: The Chill Gold Owls of Anarchy and Mystery Unicorn Dudes, the new name written on the whiteboard attached to the wall. Nothing could beat his Gold, and when he was in charge, he’d make sure to polish their title. ‘Unicorn’ and ‘dudes’ were both something he refused to keep. Maybe he’d shorten it to Owls of Anarchy as a joke because the Stans wouldn't be in power anymore.

The whole ordeal was over quickly, but Bill didn't pay attention to it since it didn't concern him, nor did he think it was an astonishing milestone for the gang when the twins had basically been a part of their business after that first night. They'd tunneled their way in months ago, but this was the official recognition of their status.

Watching as they talked to the others and were congratulated, Bill stood off to the side, leaning against the wall window as he remembered he’d need to call Robbie soon and discuss his plans to remove Stan and take control of the Owls. He hated that fucker, hated him with a passion and wanted him to rot, but he needed to bide his time to ensure his plan would go off without a hitch. He hadn’t wanted to kill Stan in the original versions dreamed up years ago, they’d been friends– but Stan betrayed him when he kicked Pine Tree and himself out of the vehicle and deemed them cop bait, and Bill wasn’t going to forgive him.

Leaving for the balcony before the group dispersed, Bill whipped out his phone and dialed Robbie’s number. The second the call was answered, he didn't care to hear Robbie's sniveling greeting and began to speak: “Valentino, I have a plan that’ll erase your debt and get the Owls off your back.”

"What," Robbie scoffed, "are you going to fuck them some more and then hope they forget all about the bad blood? Y'know what? I don't trust you, Cipher. You're treading the line with being a traitor, and I have a gang to run, so I don't need your freelancer shit."

“If I were a traitor,” Bill coldly reminded him, immediately irritated by his attitude, “I wouldn’t be telling you this. Besides, weren’t you the one that decided you wanted to get kinky with the kid when you _choked_ him?” A challenge, but he moved on, knowing Robbie wouldn’t survive much longer. He'd also ruined his chances of living through this when he decided to attack Dipper, but Bill held his tongue, wishing to give Robbie the illusion that he was off the hook and safe from retribution over the incident. He needed him for this to succeed.

"Jealous that I touched your cheap, crossdressing whore, are you?" Bill could envision that blood-boiling smirk on his emo face. "What was her name again…" there was a feigned noise of contemplation, " _Macy_?"

“How could I be jealous when your performance was subpar at best? No wonder you haven’t kept a steady relationship." Already hearing a rebuttal, he talked over it, "This isn’t the point, dumbfuck. I didn't call you to discuss your relationship shortcomings." Bill lowered his voice. "I have a plan that’ll get rid of Stan for good.”

"Yeah?" Robbie asked, disbelief edging in. "How do you think you'll do that, asshole? Going to ask nicely for him to step aside? You seem to be getting friendly with most of them these days, and you're hardly giving us anything relevant to work with."

“If you’d shut up for two seconds, I’d fucking tell you. Stan’s planning a bank heist soon– he’s currently working out the details with Ford, but he also wants to discuss it with me. We can arrange an ambush.”

"Ambush? That's a new low even for you," he commented. "With hell knows how many of them versus four of us? Sounds like a suicidal move unless you got some 'amazing' idea of how to take them down. I'm not a moron, they can outsupply us if they need to."

Bill rolled his eyes. What a fucking idiot. “That’s why I help arrange it to make sure they _aren’t_ well armed and are split up, and in addition have bombs planted that I can detonate when they reach their destination. Four of us can take out a couple of them at once and they’d be none the wiser, they’ll probably panic and think we’re cops. Don’t be a fucking child over this.”

There was a pause, and he was relieved that _maybe_ Robbie wasn't going to continue being a whiny bitch over the plan. "We're killing them all?" he asked, the seep of eagerness in his voice. "Fuckin' _finally_ , Cipher."

“Stan is your primary target,” Bill informed him after casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure his phone call on the balcony hadn't attracted any unwanted attention. Nope, they were too busy blabbing away inside. “I don’t care about Soos, but I’d rather keep Ford if he doesn’t become a problem. The guy’s a skilled shot, and he’s good at planning heists, a real brainiac for researching locations and getting together escape routes. I want to keep the others– I’m going to take over the Owls, and there’s no point in wasting an experienced gang if we can avoid it. Once Stan is out of the picture, most of them will go into hiding, and it’ll be easy to round them up under me _and_ recruit some old friends while I’m at it.”

"Yeah, whatever. Got it," Robbie muttered. "As long as this clears my debt, I don't give a shit. Better be leaving a co-leader spot open for me, though, and don't you dare give it to that inexperienced fuckbuddy of yours. How 'bout we get rid of that possibility altogether? He's dead weight, so you can't seriously say you'll stop me from putting a bullet in him." Yeah, as if he’d let Dipper go on the heist he planned to sabotage. Robbie was fucking stupid, and there wasn't a chance he would be scoring a co-leader position, let alone survive the heist. If he did, he'd finish the job himself and get rid of Robbie; what remained afterward, the fragments of two broken crews plus a mixture of his old friends, would unite under him as their new leader.

“I’m surprised you don’t want to deal with Red first,” Bill teased. “After she broke your heart and ‘stomped on it,’ or whatever you emos say.”

There was a discontented, signature-scoff on the other side of the line, reeking of Robbie Valentino. "Like, I'm over it. Fuck off." But if he knew Robbie, he was far from over it and was actively considering how attractive he'd be to Red as the supposed co-leader of the gang. "Just tell me about the actual plan, if you even have anything in mind other than your dumb dream of leading the Owls."

Bill bristled, and he was glad no one else was around to see it. “It’s not a dumb dream,” he snarled at him. “I don’t have all the details ready, I’ll need to discuss the heist with Stan. I’ll call you again when everything’s ready and give you the rundown.”

"Sure," he didn't sound like he was convinced, "this better not be another Thompson-incident."

“Don't worry, it won't be. You’re not the one planning this heist.” A click later, and the call was over. Thank the Stars.

"Hey, are you off the phone yet?" Dipper asked, poking his head out the sliding door. When he saw he was, he elaborated with heavy suggestion in his voice, "There's, uh, something on the news that I think you might like to watch..?" Oh, and what would that be? Bill followed Dipper inside, narrowing his eyes at the television.

It was breaking news, and it seemed to be about the mayor. “...she has been taken into custody by officials for questioning.” Nice, it suggested the mayor was in for an early retirement.

“It’s about time her bitch ass was taken down a few notches,” Bill said with amusement. Beside him, Stan furiously shook his head.

“I always knew she was fuckin’ shady, ya could see it in her eyes. How she went after gangs like it was ’er passion.” Yeah, Stan could keep thinking that while he had the time to, but soon enough he’d be facing his own retirement. And he wouldn’t be living to enjoy it.


	38. reconstruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Dip gets fucked.

"...and she won't be lifting a finger to stop us."

Stan was right. The mayor was as helpless as a kitten, a thought that had his chest swelling with sadistic pride, and Bill said, "Not with the investigation ongoing." That reminded him to peek into Shooting Star's situation at some point, see how Preston's 'sudden change of heart' was coming along.

Chatting with the twins about it would have to wait because a heist meeting was in progress, though the nosier one of the two didn't seem to share that opinion. It was like a horror movie, Dipper's sneaky, well-timed appearances in the background gradually becoming closer and closer until he was finally edging in on him and the rest of the heist planning team. Like a shadow, he stood there without a word but watched through an attentive gaze.

"It's remarkably intuitive, keeping the checking systems in-person throughout the heist to ensure complete confidentiality and minimize the use of headsets, as Cipher mentioned earlier. With that in mind, perhaps we ought to change our entry point to this set of doors," Ford said, scraping his pen along the print out of the bank's floor plan, then he wrote a 'maybe' next to the doors.

"Wouldn't it be better to have the crew enter from this one?" Dipper asked and indicated the spot, the little plan-wrecker barging into the conversation. "I mean, think about it, if we're going in together we'll want to stay close in case something goes wrong with getting inside, and we don't want to attract attention from the street."

Evaluating rather than immediately kicking the kid from their discussion, Ford hummed in thought. "Ah, well… I could see where that would have its advantages. Fiddleford has expressed concern over the alarms since we won't be entering during normal business hours."

Bill shook his head, making a point to lightly smack Dipper’s hand back from where it rested on the blueprints. “Get out of here, Pine Tree. We don’t need our entire team going through one entrance when all we’d become is bullet sponges in a gunfight.”

Beside him, Dipped frowned and rocked on his heels, innocent curiosity in his tone as he asked, "Aren't we going on a day the bank is closed? There won't be anyone around." Oh, that tiny sasser had another thing coming— he thought he was so smart while he played the victim card and stomped on his plans. A mastermind hid behind those dumb brown irises.

“How do you know that?” Bill questioned, eyes narrowed to slits. “Just because something’s technically closed doesn’t mean no one’s in there.”

Stan nodded. “Bill’s right, we need to approach this like there are people inside.”

“Well, no, we shouldn’t, we should keep that _mindset_.” It wasn't a contradiction, not at all, Stan took things way too literal. There was a reason he’d make a better leader, and mostly, he didn't want Stan to be ready in case the Ravagers managed to beat them into the bank.

"Wait, then why..." The thorn in his side didn't relent, and he glared at him to suggest he should keep his mouth shut. The inner workings of his mind never took a break, a mental observation that led him to wonder if this kid was the official party-killer at social functions. "Why did you bring it up if we shouldn't approach the plan like there is somebody inside?" Oh yes, he was the one people said 'oh pretend there's no party, fucking Dipper's here' about.

“None of your concern, you’re not even supposed to be here.”

"What do you mean? I'm officially part of the crew now, so I don't see why I couldn't be—"

Stan’s grumble hushed him. “Bein’ a part of the crew doesn’t mean ya need to be included in our plannin’, kid. This is between Bill, Ford, an’ me, not the rest of ya.” Being shut down by Big Daddy himself had etched an expression of disappointment and self-consciousness over his features, and he dejectedly stepped back from the table while he rubbed at his arms.

"Oh.. I— okay," he gave in, sounding like he was choking the words out before sulking away, his departure confirmed when he heard the balcony door slide. Bill didn't know why he was sad considering nobody invited him to help organize heists in the first place. The kid was skilled at creating alternative routes and mental maps, but he didn't need him messing up his shot at overtaking Stan and Ford's gang with his quality, totally not shady contributions.

"Well, then," Ford cleared his throat, "let's carry on with our discussion. If we do enter from this door, we can have somebody stationed here," he pointed with the pen, "and another one stationed here…" Yes, put them in positions where someone could sneak up on them. Perfect.

They continued to plan the heist throughout the course of at least an hour or so, with Bill’s input being eaten up like candy. It was as if they were both suicidal, excitedly implementing ideas he _knew_ would result in vulnerability. Did they care about their team-mates anymore? Safety measures were being disregarded left and right.

With the bulk of the plan prepared, Stan excused them, and Bill broke off to head to the balcony. Pine Tree hadn’t left it, and he intended on joining him to appease a minor want that'd been in the back of his thoughts ever since his intrusion. “Pine Sapling,” he greeted warmly as he stepped out of the penthouse, taking in the sight of his boyfriend sitting peacefully with his sketchbook on his lap and a pencil in hand in the calm of the night. With his favorite person before him and his favorite stars above him, it made for a sublime atmosphere.

Sarcastically, Dipper asked, "Are you sure I'm _qualified enough_ for whatever conversation this is preceding?" So much for the atmosphere. He wasn't sure he was feeling the kid's sharp tongue.

“Are you going to butt in uninvitedly?” Bill countered, not understanding what the issue was. “No? Then I think we’re fine right now.”

"I've overheard Stan and Ford planning heists hundreds of times now." Bill noted it was most definitely an exaggerated number, though Stan and Ford did chat about heists to each other often enough, and his personal theory was that they'd run out of things to talk about over the years. "I think I could offer some good ideas," he said defensively, "and I don't see why you have to stifle that instead of at least hearing me out and being supportive." Seriously, what was the problem? The heist planning was solely for senior members of the gang, not a kid who could hardly remember to tie his shoes and had forgotten too many times to tally. He was at the point of leaving them constantly tied.

Besides, once Stan and Ford were dealt with, he’d have his chance to shine. “Keep your ideas quiet for now, cutie,” he said. “You can use them later, but as long as Stan’s in charge, meetings are for senior members only.”

"Oh." That seemed to resonate with Dipper since he nodded and let the subject drop, meanwhile Bill hoped he was internally fuming over that, taking what he perceived as unfair treatment and attributing it to Stan. Unhappiness over his leadership style would make the upcoming Era of Bill a joyous change. Although he appeared to be about to resume drawing, he hesitated and asked, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

“I wanted to see you,” Bill answered. “The meeting’s over with, and I figured it’d be nice to hang out, Pine Tree." A gesture prompting him to sit down, Dipper pulled his legs inward, making room for him on the other side of the balcony sofa. It was almost cute. Bill took a seat, his arm instantly wrapping around his shoulder, and Dipper affectionately leaned into him after setting the drawing materials aside. “Are you doing okay?” he inquired. “I know you weren’t happy about the meeting.” But maybe it wasn't a loss for anybody except Stan, training Dipper to associate his leadership with negative experiences.

"I'm fine," Dipper reported and shrugged, but Bill didn't say anything, knew he wasn't quite done since he tended to elaborate if he let silence take over. He could feel his little shifts, uncomfortable squirming, but he didn't seem to be trying to escape when he merely pressed further into him. "I just— sometimes, I don't feel that helpful in the Owls, so I guess that's kind of a depressing thought." If he was hosting depressive thoughts, he shouldn’t be on the balcony. Stars knew how the other times went.

To his credit, he did all sorts of things for the crew, why was this getting to him? “Sugar, you _are_ helpful. Beyond it. You give us amazing meals and you keep everything clean, you don’t need to plot heists.”

"Great, so you're telling me I'm basically a housewife with a slightly longer list of responsibilities. Hasn't that always been what you wanted?" Bill couldn't determine if he was genuinely upset by this deduction, but he couldn't be that delusional to think he could step into a crime gang and be skilled in everything. Luckily, Dipper let out a soft laugh, "I guess it's not bad, it's kind of funny in a way. You're getting the arrangement that you've fantasized about, and you're still not getting laid."

“Fuck you.” Bill aimed to sound angry, but he didn’t think he pulled it off. He wasn’t too upset over the remark, though it stung some– why couldn’t he get laid? Why didn’t Dipper want him?

Dipper nuzzled him, a wordless apology and his means of soothing the damage. "Hey, don't be sour about it. To be honest, I've been thinking about that, and um… yeah," he carded a hand through his hair, "I don't know, it's not important."

Bill raised his eyebrow at him. “What were you going to say, Pine Tree?”

"I'll tell you later. It's not really a… a balcony conversation." How annoying, keeping it from him. Bill was intrigued, and he wanted to know what Dipper was going to say because he was a non-stop train of insight and bizarre philosophy, but he knew he wasn’t going to talk about having sex. Bill would be amazed if it ever came to mind, with how tight-legged the virgin was. He'd ceased pushing for anything beyond what they'd done, a part of his personal mission to keep Dipper comfortable when he'd already inflicted damage and fucked up their relationship, not to mention Dipper's self-image. Pressuring wouldn't yield a satisfactory outcome for either of them.

Looking at the sky to admire the stars, he couldn’t help but think about his upcoming plans. Killing Stan, removing Fordsy from power, possibly having to get rid of Wendy and Soos if they were a problem.. he was pretty sure it made him the bad guy, and he was equally sure he didn't like that. Oh well, it was business and would go unpunished since he was going to be in charge. “Pine Tree,” he hummed, curiosity consuming. “Do you think good people can do bad things?”

Bill was certain he could _feel_ the shiver of alarm pass through his boyfriend as he asked worriedly, "What did you do?" The lighter tone suggested he'd intended for it to be a joke, but ultimately his paranoid fears had warped the delivery.

“I didn’t do anything,” Bill said. Yet. Dipper should hold onto that question for when Stan was dead. “I was asking for a friend.”

His clarification invited a stretch of silence, and he wondered if the kid was overthinking this as usual. "Okay," he said, and there was a pause. Rather than getting his answer, he tacked on an inquisitively snarky, "What did Stan do?" Oh, how astute of him. Only Stan wasn't his friend necessarily, not after the incident.

“If he did something, I don’t know about it. And I have more friends than him!” He wasn’t Fordsy. “It’s a hypothetical, no one did anything, but if they did do a bad thing, are they still a good person?”

"I don't know, I guess. That's a pretty loaded question, y'know?" If that was the best response he was going to get, he regretted asking. Bill stared at Dipper and noticed he was fiddling with his hands, probably a substitute for his nervous shifting or an awkward clearing of his throat. "Over the last few months, I've… sort of stopped believing in inherently good or bad people. I think people are just the sum of their actions, which is complicated too, obviously, but..." he trailed off there, getting quieter.

Oh. “So I am a bad guy.” Under that definition, how was he not? He murdered people, conducted underhanded deals, stole, drugged Dipper, ruined lives and relationships and was plotting to remove a former friend from his position as leader (and in the world) permanently.

"Maybe, but you're really sweet sometimes, so I doubt you're _all_ bad. I think you're, uh, more compassionate than you think you are, and you work hard to be a good boyfriend," Dipper said, smiling faintly, and he inched onto his lap. The next thing he knew, there were hands placed on his shoulders to rub gentle circles into the muscles.

Bill couldn’t help himself, it’d been a while since his shoulders had been massaged and he pushed into the touch, a small noise of pleasure escaping him. “Still a bad guy, cutie.”

Dipper hummed, and the cheerful nature of the note had Bill wondering about how he perceived him. He didn't seem convinced he was the bad guy, or he didn't care. "If it makes you feel any better, you're a very attractive villain, the best-looking one I've ever met." Teasingly, he leaned forward to brush their noses together but kept the massage going. "You're in the running for the squishiest too, being a grand romantic and all."

Aha! Dipper practically _admitted_ he was a bad guy with his talk of villainy. Bill knew he was trying to be nice before. Bill couldn’t help it though, how could he be mad at him when he was complimenting his excellence so much? “Cutie,” he purred. “Keep talking like this and you’ll be attacked.” With kisses.

"What, are you going to demonstrate to me that you actually are a bad guy, or something?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow at him and driving two bony fingers into the sensitive muscles. "Oh _gosh_ ," it was a melodramatic whine, "I hope you don't do anything, um, unsavory to me." It wasn’t unsavory if Dipper liked it, and Bill _knew_ he’d like what he had in mind.

“Come here,” he murmured, leaning to steal his lips in a kiss. It was gentle at first, but Bill was quick to push into his mouth. He always tasted so sweet, and the _sounds_ , maybe the sounds were even sweeter as Dipper spewed noises of approval. Bolts of desire tickled down Bill's spine when Dipper seemingly remembered his hands and dug them into the fabric of his vest, gripping him tightly, keeping him close, a sign of pure need.

The peace of the night was wonderful, with the stars hanging above them, their mouths locked in a series of increasingly-sloppy kisses. Bill had also discovered a new trick while Dipper was on his lap; he slanted his knees downward to keep him fighting to stay balanced, urging him into an intentional, occasional grind.

When the string of kisses ended, Dipper began pressing lighter ones to his jaw, then his neck, and everything felt amazing, it was as if his nerves were alight with fire.

An abrupt stop and startled squeal of sheer terror made Bill jump, and Dipper jolted back, his eyes frightened and huge. " _Stan_?" he squeaked out, looking behind him, and Bill turned around to be met with Stan's face against the glass of the wall window. What. The. Fuck. "Oh my god, dude. You— I—… I thought my heart was going to explode."

Stan slid the balcony door open, staring at them. “What are ya two doin’?” he demanded. “If you’re datin’, cut that shit out. I can’t be havin’ relationships among the team, ya both should know that.”

"We were just, uh— um, doing stuff. Like, what we usually do, a-and that's not dating, it's more like… a physical arrangement." Maybe that would have been the smallest bit plausible if not for Dipper tugging on the collar of his shirt and mumbling something about the Los Santos heat, then all but falling off of his lap in a heap of patheticness.

“Why were you stalking us through the window?” Bill inquired, wondering how long he’d been there with that lifeless stare, watching them. He didn’t mind it too much. It meant Stan could witness how Dipper was his, and his alone. Stan could only watch, but he couldn’t have what Bill had, and this was reaffirmed by Dipper reclaiming his spot beside him and curling into his side as if he was afraid of Stan's wrath raining down on them.

Stan narrowed his eyes, moving them from Bill to Dipper, then back to Bill. “I was makin’ sure ya weren’t up to no funny business out here, like _datin’_ for example. I’d have to remove ya both from the Owls if that were the case, and it ain’t, is it?” His gaze pointedly fell on Dipper. Stan probably thought he’d break and spill the beans to him about their relationship, but Bill knew better. Dipper didn't seem to appreciate Stan's attention being furiously on him, but he didn't crack under the pressure- verbally, that was. While he didn't confess anything to Stan, his anxious habits were on overdrive with lip chewing, weight shuffling, weird broken radiator-like noises.

Finally, when Stan didn't relent and Dipper seemingly couldn't take any longer of the silence, he said through a huff, "I'm not going to date him. I… he's… he's not my type, and he's also a huge jerk, the worst person I've ever met, he's selfish and… rude, and a dickwad." Ouch, Bill didn’t know where Dipper had gotten that false impression, but he sure as hell wanted to prove him wrong.

“Ignore him,” Bill told Stan. “We’re not dating, but he doesn’t appreciate what being a Southern gentleman is all about. He lacks the charm we do.”

Stan grumbled, beginning to turn away from them. “Ya better not be datin’, ya hear me? If I find out you're lyin’, you’re gunna regret it. Understand?”

"Yeah, uh, sure. Got it. So dating crew members is off the table, what about marrying them? Strictly professionally, I mean. No romance involved whatsoever." Oh, that was cute. Pine Tree wanted to marry him?

Stan whirled around, staring hard at Dipper. “I don’t give a shit if you’re romantic or not, you’re not allowed to marry a crew mate, or date a crew mate, or whatever other method of gettin’ out of it you wanna try. It’s too dangerous for jobs, too much of a distraction. It’s a risk none of us can afford, ya hear me?”

"Bill could probably afford it," he muttered under his breath but louder said, "Yeah, I hear you. Hey, wait up, there was something I wanted to ask you about since you're here and you're going off on tangents tonight."

Bill raised his eyebrow at him, but Stan cut in. Damn, he wanted to question what the kid meant by ‘affording it.’ Money couldn’t replace a dead person. “What do ya want, kid?”

"I was going to ask who you got to do the engraving on the rifle, that's all. After what you told me, I decided I wanted to give them a call and teach them the difference between spelling 'Mason' and 'honorary' so they don't make that mistake again. What do you think?"

Stan glanced at Bill. “Ya fuckin’ ratted me out, you sick bastard?” Bill grinned at him. It wasn’t his fault he lied to Pine Tree. “Kid, ya got me, it wasn’t a misspellin’ I crossed out.”

"Yeah, that was honestly kind of shady of you." Mm, Bill liked this, though Dipper could have sounded more vindictive about it. Whatever, it wouldn't matter. He was simply glad Dipper was seeing Stan as he was: a dishonest crook. "Do you want to tell me why it says 'Honorary Pines' or…? I mean, you don't have anything to lose at this point since I know what the scratched out part says."

“It was a gift for Mav,” Stan answered. “He was real sick when we got ‘im, but we– Shermie, he took him in. He didn’t have a family, so we made him an ‘Honorary Pines’ once he started workin’ with the crew more.”

Dipper looked stumped, and sometimes Bill wished he could see what was happening inside of his mind but had a suspicion it would exhaust him beyond any recovering. "Um. Right… that, uh, doesn't explain why my last name is on it. What does the 'Pines' part mean?" Under his breath, Bill could hear him muttering something about it maybe symbolizing 'family' or 'group of trees' as if this was a complex math equation.

Stan shook his head, “Yeah, it’s ours too. Small world, kid.” Bill snickered, entertained by how far Stan was willing to extend this lie to avoid the truth.

Sparing a glance at Dipper, he saw the surprise in his eyes, his lifted eyebrows as he processed the new information. "Wait, uh, really? Like is it actually 'Pines'? Because that's… that's strange but kind of cool, if you're not joking. Do you maybe… think we're distantly related, or something? I know my dad— he said, we had family somewhere around the country but he never said who it was. Like, he didn't keep in contact."

Unable to wipe the smirk off of his face, it was hard to remain serious when Dipper was so enthralled over the subject of their last names. “Nah,” Stan finally said after a moment. “Ford and I are all that’s left of our Pines. But...”

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," there was a pause of Dipper's tone raising, eyes narrowing to judge Stan's reaction, "I think? I wouldn't have guessed it was a common last name, I've never met anyone else with it. But you're _seriously_ Stan and Ford Pines? Because… I don't know, that's weird but neat."

“We are,” he said, faltering, “but what I was gonna say is that, uh– we might’ve adopted your pops twenty-some years ago." When it registered, Dipper's face went pale, and Bill chalked it up to the shock gripping him. "Not legally, but he took our last name an’ we arranged for it to be a documented change with them fancy government papers and everything.”

There were a few seconds of stunned silence and Dipper looking owlishly at Stan, probably waiting for him to take it back, slap his knee, say it was a joke, and laugh heartily, but that moment didn't come. Distress forming, he watched it sink deeper into Dipper, eyes hollow and glassy. Bill knew this was a rough subject for Dipper, he never had healed from the loss, probably barely had a chance to properly grieve. That was what happened when grisly wounds were covered by a fragile mental band-aid of distraction that kept getting pulled off, a bleeding-out breakdown was inevitable.

"He didn't tell us any of that," he admitted breathlessly, the way he spoke detachedly made his mind seem like it was worlds away. "His n-name wasn't Mav. ...Maxwell. My dad was Maxwell Pines." His voice was trembling now while his frame crumpled inward as if the weight of the universe had settled on him, or was squeezing the life from his fragile body. "I— I think you have the wrong guy."

“What do ya want from me? I ain’t playin’, kid. Maxwell.. well, he’s the fucker that stole Mav from me, but they’re technically the same. Just a sheep that shed its wolf pelt, ya know?” That resulted in another particularly long stare, then a wheezing, shuddering fit as he appeared to be trying to fight against an approaching anxiety attack, his hand clutching his chest. Bill didn't think he'd ever seen such agony on him past that first night, the true terror like his life was flashing before him and bringing him spiraling back. “Mav was his chosen codename, it’s short for Maverick.” Stan chuckled sadly. “He was obsessed with _Top Gun_.”

His universe-pressure theory in action, Dipper collapsed in on himself and brought his knees upward, his face in his hands like he was trying to hide from his family's newly-revealed history but no escape offered respite. While he mumbled unintelligibly to himself, Bill could make out pieces, "I can't believe it. N-not…" he dragged in a shaky inhale, "the _Top Gun_ part. I… He— I never... never realized, and he didn't..." Although it was muffled by his balled form and the hands over his face, Bill could still gather bits of his miserable statements and sniffling, and he was grateful that it hadn't morphed into a full-on cry session. "I just can't believe it. It… I— how could you… All this time, _months_ , and you never told me. Does Mabel know?"

Guiltily, Stan shrugged, glancing away from Dipper. Did the old man feel regret over keeping this shit from the kids? Bill had known about it, but it wasn’t his job to absolve Stan’s sins. Bill hoped he’d cry, feel as hurt as Dipper did. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Stanley, keeping that from them?” His tone was accusatory, his arm coming to protectively wrap around Dipper’s shoulders. _His_. It was nice that Dipper's noises were quieting in intensity and volume, indicating he was already beginning to calm down from the initial wave of emotion, and the kid was pressing into him likely in search of comfort.

“I– look, I wasn’t gonna tell her. She’s happy with her domestic life, that lil’ girlfriend of hers, why ruin it with this shit? I was gonna let it go. Same with you, but ya kept pushing for fuckin’ answers.” Stan stopped to shake his head, looking lost in thought. Amazing, Bill didn’t think his brain worked that well. “I wish I knew what happened to that golden lion." Dipper's head shot up at the mention, and alarm pierced Bill- not by his broken sniffling or his sunken eyes, but the haunted expression he wore, how his color drained at the thought of that lion. "It was a gift from Shermie to Mav for his weddin’ since we weren't invited to that snooty shitshow, an’ when we found ya kids it wasn’t in the house.” Oops. Bill might’ve snatched it up, but it wasn’t his fault it looked so shiny. To be fair, not many of his items had a history weaved with crime bosses in general, let alone his crime boss and his boyfriend.

"Oh, th-that's why you..." Dipper choked out the response but didn't look like he had anything more to say, which was good because he didn't think he could manage more.

“Why we saved ya, tried to save your pops too. Yeah. Anyway,” Stan was turning away, muttering as he went for the door. “I don’t want Mabel to know, she deserves a good life outside'a crime. This gang’s a death sentence longer than death row, we’re biding our time until we die. ” And at that, Dipper seemed horrified but recovered enough to flick his concerned gaze to Bill, basically clinging to him now. Stan's speech about gloom and doom must have put the kid on edge with how his face was ashen with strife, and the talk of that pretty golden lion hadn't seemed to help either.

A soft mumble of "Jesus Christ" came from Dipper as he combed his fingers through his hair, eyes lifted away from him to settle on the stars above. A glorious sight, he couldn't blame him. "I still don't… don't even know what to think of everything that just happened. It's— I'm… Stan and Ford… I wish they would have told me. I wish _my dad_ would have told me. B-being in a crime gang? That's a pretty huge deal? No, 'hey, I used to break the law regularly' or 'I robbed a few banks in my time, son' - _nothing_. He talked about stuff like his job or flying kites or birds and their individual songs. I feel like I don't know him anymore, and I thought I had the most normal dad in the world." A senator for a father? Sure, that was normal.

Wiping a stray tear from his cheek, Bill nuzzled the top of his head. It wasn’t new information to Bill, he didn’t give a fuck, but Dipper seemed to be ruffled by it. “He probably wanted to leave it behind, cutie.”

"I don't know if I'm… glad he told me finally or if I wish he would've lied about it, or… or not told me _that_. Anything else. And not sharing it with Mabel?" Dipper sighed. "I still think I should tell her, she deserves to know. That's not selfish, is it? I want her to be happy with Pacifica, but this is still relevant to both of us, and I—" the ramble went on, his stressed fidgeting increasing along with the strain in his voice.

“Would Mabel want to know?” Bill asked. “You were the one asking questions, she’s been too focused on Mini Northwest.”

"I don't know," he griped, flopping back but the dramatics were cut short since his arm was in his path, merely causing Dipper to fall onto him instead. "I'll think about it, maybe try to vaguely ask if she would want to. I still can't believe it, though. I mean, I guess it doesn't matter too much anymore because my dad is dead," Bill was no stranger to the bitterness, "and it's not like I can ask him anything and I doubt Stan will be very helpful… I— it's overwhelming, to suddenly know all that."

Bill wasn’t sure what to say to that, not when Dipper had gone from enthusiastically wanting to know what Stan was hiding to wishing Stan had lied to him. “Do you want to rest?” he asked. “It might help this sink in a bit.”

"Consider it sunk," Dipper mumbled and shrugged off his arm, departing from the balcony sofa to begin to pace with his hands clasped behind his back, feet padding over the concrete. "I appreciate the offer—I honestly do—but I don't think I could rest right now." Cue more pacing, but his vigor didn't last as he started to limp a little, visibly favoring the uninjured leg. Had that still not healed? Bill knew he'd torn the stitches, but for someone exuding youth, this was taking its time.

“What are you going to do then, wear holes into the balcony?” It was a challenge, suggesting agitation over ancient gang history was pointless. It didn’t change anything.

The cycle of pacing-limping continued with Dipper shooting a harrowed look in his direction. "I'm sorry, okay? I… I do this when I'm nervous." For fuck's sake, did Dipper believe they'd met yesterday? He was fully acquainted with his habit of pacing, but it'd transitioned further into slow limping than the brisk walk it used to be. A low whine sprang from Dipper, who defeatedly plopped down beside him again.

He looked at him in confusion, wondering what could _possibly_ have him upset when all Stan had done was inform him his father was a former gangster, but acknowledged it was likely the trauma of the loss shining through rather than the history itself. “I don’t get why you are, cutie.”

"I don't know either. It's like I might have PTSD or something," this was said sarcastically, "and I get anxious over every stupid thing." It was bordering on sad, how tired and uncertain he sounded with himself. "I don't really have the nightmares often anymore, but it's still hard." Interesting, he was right.

“You should relax,” Bill said. “Take a hot bath, let the warmth melt the tension in your muscles.” He ran his fingers along Dipper’s leg, watching his body jerk under the touch. “If it wasn’t so crammed in the bathtub,” since Bill was tall and Dipper wasn’t terribly short, “I’d join you, but I can wait for you in bed.”

And he did after Dipper hesitantly agreed. Bill sat in bed against propped pillows while Dipper enjoyed the bath Bill had prepared with the utmost of care after their talk, hopefully using the time to take the stress levels down a few notches before he'd join him in bed when he was finished. If Bill was lucky, maybe he could get something more out of Pine Tree being relaxed. Get both their minds off this bullshit.

It’d be fucking magnificent when he was in charge. The most powerful man alive, with a skilled crew ready to fight at the snap of his fingers, and a darling housewife and second-in-command. It’d be perfect, having his doting Pine Rose plan the heists without going on them. It was too dangerous, so Bill would reward his good behavior with a nice fuck and any material items he desired, wealth beyond his wildest dreams.

The noise of water draining alerted him to Dipper's impending return. Peering into the connected bathroom, he could watch from the bed as his boyfriend stepped from the water and draped a towel over himself, drying his hair until it was a fluffier mess than usual. It was a bit of a shame that Dipper changed into his pajamas before returning to the bedroom, and he paused in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe with a thoughtful expression.

"Hi," he greeted, coughing, and Bill waited to see where he was going with this. "Did you know your razor blades are missing from the bathroom?"

“What are you talking about?” Bill let out a short laugh. “They’re still in there, cutie.” Absolutely in there, it wasn’t like Bill removed them before Dipper got in because he didn’t want him to cut himself after he'd said he harbored depressed thoughts.

Flatly, he asked, "Did you hide them?"

Bill shook his head, patting a spot beside him on the bed. “Join me, cutie.”

"You hid them."

“Join. Me.” He wasn’t going to touch this topic, not when he knew it might end without him getting some action. Maybe he could eat him out again. He liked the thought of that, it had been a while since he had indulged himself.

The command apparently worked because Dipper scooted in next to him, draping himself partially on top of his side and nuzzling close. "You know, I'm not going to hurt myself with your razor blades. You don't have to worry about it, I... I don't want you to think I'm in that dark of a place anymore. Emotionally." There was a pause, and he murmured, "I guess it comes and goes, but that urge hasn't been loud lately, and it's not like I've ever acted on it before." So sitting on the balcony railing with plain intent didn't count, and neither did the discovery that Dipper had been messing with his razor blades. How reassuring.

Bill threw his arms around him, pulling him closer, though it was slight. “Sugar,” he hummed. “You don’t need them, you barely grow body hair.”

"Hey, I have hair, sort of," he huffed into the skin of his shoulder, and Bill swore he felt the drag of teeth on him chased by the warm breath of an exhale, but the sensation faded. "What did you do while I was gone? ...More specifically, how many times were you able to jack off?"

“I didn’t jack off,” he objected, though he wished he had. That would’ve been another good use of his time. “I was thinking, cutie.”

"Mm-hmm, okay." A flippant, dubious answer, but Dipper didn't pry for more. "Too busy thinking to jack it? Something pretty important must be on your mind." Now this, this seemed to be exciting him, like he was some mystery waiting to be solved by the ball of sass and curiosity that was Dipper.

“You could say that.” Bill tilted his head, nipping Dipper’s neck and drawing a contented sigh from him. “Nothing you’d want to know.” Not yet, not until it was over and he could frame the truth for him, make it easier to digest. Another freakout wasn't the goal. “Hey, cutie?”

"Yeah?"

How was he going to do this? Dipper was expecting to be included on the heist, and he needed to play his cards right to ensure his Pine Tree wouldn’t fall into his trap. The last thing he wanted was for Dipper to run into Robbie’s greasy, meddling fingers. “I don’t want you to go on the heist, cutie, it’s incredibly dangerous. The most dangerous robbery we’ve had.”

"You're worried about me?" Dipper's cracking voice betrayed his surprise, and he blinked at him, vigilant. "I know Stan said it was a more dangerous one, but I thought it'd be okay...? The mayor is still under heavy investigating, which means she's not taking gangs down anymore, and uh, besides, you and I have done pretty dangerous stuff as it is."

“I’m not worried about the mayor,” he told him. “She’s not a threat, same with Preston’s cronies. Pine Tree, I have a _bad_ feeling about this heist, and I don’t want to risk losing you over it.” ‘Bad feeling’ loosely translated to: he arranged for an ambush, and he knew at least one of the individuals involved was out for Dipper’s blood.

Expression softening, Dipper moved closer, his palm resting over his shoulder to caress his arm and glide downward to thread their fingers together. "You… you have a bad feeling about it? That's pretty weird coming from you. You're usually super confident, and I thought you liked the 'action' or whatever." He loved action, but not the ‘Dipper is dead’ type. That tended to put a damper on things.

Bill squeezed his fingers, hoping his concerns would break through the stubborn sapling. “Are you going to stay?” he asked. “Action isn’t worth watching you get hurt again, or worse.”

It was revealing how Dipper's breath hitched at the words, and he casted a downward glance at his injured leg. Yeah, that wouldn't serve him well, Stan should be ashamed of himself for putting a wounded crew member on a major heist. "I- I don't know, honestly, because there's Mabel who isn't sure if she's going, and I thought Stan wanted everyone he could get," he explained, a dusting of uncertainty in the words, like he was genuinely considering this. "I guess it's dumb, but if it's going to be bad, I kind of want to be there for you." There was a jittery laugh, and he dragged his free hand through his fluffed hair. "Power couple, y'know?"

“Shooting Star thinks she might drop it?” he asked, growing curious, and Dipper made an affirmative hum while saying something about how she was helping Pacifica pack 'just in case.' When did she say that? The specifics didn't make a difference, he supposed. It meant that if she remained with the crew and didn’t die, she’d be another puppet he could control. “There can’t be a power couple if you die during this heist,” he reminded him. “Please, Pine Tree. I don’t want to lose you.”

"See, that's the thing. I don't want to lose you either, and..." he trailed off in thought, fretting as he peered at him with those pleading eyes, "and maybe you could drop the heist too? We don't _have_ to do it. I'd rather spend the day with you, and it's not like they have anything set in stone, so they can just cancel and do it at a safer time, if there is one." Wow, planting the seed of a 'bad feeling' had truly sparked anxiety in this poor kid, now there was a garden of nerves growing within him.

Bill was the best, there was no risk of him being killed during the heist. The cops feared him, and Robbie was a little bitch who wouldn’t dare face him directly. Plus, he'd keep Robbie busy by organizing a _stan_ doff with Stan, a confrontation that one of them wouldn't survive only for the other to be picked off later. “This is the best time to do it,” he said. “The mayor’s impending arrest has distracted a lot of people, and that’s reduced some of the danger we’re facing. It’s still dangerous as fuck, but our likeliness of everyone dying is lower.”

"Wait, so you— you don't want _me_ to go, but it's fine if you endanger yourself." The tone was displeased, his features following suit to give way to an unamused glare. " _Bill_."

“I’m not _endangering_ myself,” Bill corrected him. “I’ll just endanger everyone else.” By leaving them to die as he escaped, retreated to his countryside house, married Dipper, and lived happily ever after. That sounded like a nice heist to him.

Frowning again, he clarified, "You really don't want me to go, then."

Bill took his other hand, squeezing both tightly as he gazed at him. “I don’t,” he replied. “I don’t because I don’t want to lose you or see you get hurt, my darling honeysuckle. You mean everything to me.” Dipper didn't have to say anything because Bill witnessed it, he knew the moment he had convinced the kid and could watch it go off like a flash in the depths of his eyes. He could see the agreement, the stubbornness fading, replaced by a wave of affection.

"Okay," he said hushedly, _enamored_. Enamored with him. "I'll talk to Stan." Yes, he knew he would. With any luck, Stan would back down, and his Pine Tree’s safety would be ensured. Lovingly, he kissed his lips, a brief peck.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Blushing faintly, Dipper gave him a half-smile before he admitted, "I wish you wouldn't go either. I get it, but… yeah." Bill was glad he was going, he wouldn’t miss out on Robbie getting his ass beat by Stan for anything in the world.

He chuckled, moving closer to his Pine Tree as his hands released his in favor of wrapping around his scrawny waist. “I’ll be alright.”

Although there were several seconds of internal debate and Dipper fidgeting, he finally relented with an, "Okay."

Bill planted another kiss to his lips, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth. “You should relax, cutie. Enjoy the time we have before the heist.” Before Bill changed their lives for the better. Dipper ought to love him then.

"I thought that was what the bath was for? I feel relaxed...ish," Dipper said, pitch raising to denote a lack of conviction. "Okay, so the talk about the heist didn't help, but I want you to be safe. And it's normal, worrying about someone I care about. Not paranoid."

“I didn’t say you were paranoid.” He had requested he relax, a suggestion he thought was reasonable given the circumstances. “I did say you should relax, and it doesn’t sound like you are.” Being told he was ‘relaxed-ish’ was about as reassuring as when Dipper said he 'rarely' engaged in suicidal ideation.

"Look, I'm fine. You can give the worrying a break for one night," he said and bumped their noses together. "That's basically all you've done for the last twenty minutes of our lives. _Pine Tree,_ " this was playful, a horrible attempt at mimicking his speech mannerisms, "I'm soo scared you'll get hurt on the heist, I don't want my _fragile,_ amazing housewife getting any bruises!"

Bill’s expression dropped, going from something warm and affectionate to blank, borderline irritated though he didn’t feel that way. “I think I have to remove you as a friend.”

"Oh, come on," Dipper chided at his overdramatics, "don't be upset. It's sweet? Seriously, it's touching that you like me enough to be worried about it, and kind of deconstructing the whole 'I'm a bad guy' conclusion you made earlier." Bill almost wished that were the case, but he knew better. Being nice to Dipper, persuading him to stay– it was all because he wanted Stan dead, and he didn’t want Dipper to be killed by Robbie.

Still, he wasn’t elated over the impression of him. At least he admitted he was a fragile, amazing housewife. “Cutie,” he spoke gently. “I _am_ the bad guy. You’re just lucky I like you a lot.”

"Yeah, you're the bad guy alright, the most feared villain to step into this penthouse," he scoffed teasingly. "I guess I should be terrified of you, but I'm not. I don't think I have been ever since…" his eyes slid toward the wall of photographs, "well, it doesn't matter. Maybe I like living on the dangerous side." What alternate reality did this kid live in? He was a tick beyond cowardly, and that was being generous—

Bill was dragged into the moment by a caress on his cheek, and Dipper giving him an exquisitely devious look. His eyebrows raised. "Bad guy, Southern gentleman, grand romantic, star-doctor. You might be more of a mess than I am."

“I’m not a mess,” Bill jumped to disagreeing. “I’m perfectly _fine_ , even though I’m an awful person. I’ll show you scary.” He puffed his chest up, and Dipper snorted at the display. It was tempting to tell him his master plan, but it wasn’t time. Dipper was still too kind hearted for the knowledge Bill had.

Laughing through the words, Dipper commented, "That chest-thrust or whatever that was… scary stuff, Big Shot." Big Shot? Bill slimmed his glower, unsure if he liked that new nickname. He didn’t think he did.

There was an edge to his tone, however it wasn’t serious. “Pine Tree, don’t make me scare you.”

And that little shitbird Dipper stuck his tongue out at him. "You couldn't scare me if you wanted to. I'm not afraid of you." Bill did the only logical thing to do: he lunged at Dipper, a motion which caused him to squeak in joyous alarm, gently knocking him down against the bed and trapping him with hands pressed above his shoulders. He was mindful of his stupid leg, cautious to not jar it. Fascination glittered in Dipper's eyes, and Bill liked how they were glued to him, drinking him in with awe like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Not exactly a reaction of _fear_ , but it would have to do.

Bill was enthralled, looking down on Dipper, he could see the stars above reflect in his eyes. It was gorgeous. The skylight was a much better investment than his fan. “Are you afraid of me now?”

"I'm a little shook by how good you look at this angle." The confession was heightened when he blushed, as if realizing what he said. "I guess it might not be that surprising to you, because I… I tell you that you're handsome a lot, and you are, so… that's why I say that."

“Cherry,” he planted a kiss to his wonderfully red cheek. “You’re adorable, did you know that?” Grinning at the compliment, Dipper managed a small 'thanks' but couldn't seem to work up the courage to make eye contact as he said it, and Bill wondered if perhaps he _was_ scary or if this was a result of lingering self-consciousness.

A part of him hoped he was scary to some degree. He didn’t want to be seen as a pushover, weak, incapable of being the leader of the Owls. He wasn’t pitiful like Stan. “You look amazing,” he murmured, his hands moving to run along Dipper’s sides. Oh, how he desired to plunge into his Pine Tree. Nothing would beat Bill fucking Dipper, but what were the chances it would happen?

"Really? I- oh, thanks," he sighed, finally mustering the bravery to peer at him, but he could see Dipper's fingers drumming timidly on the sheets. "I'm glad, I guess. I feel better than I used to, just about myself and everything, and I want to look good for you," a tiny, tentative pause, "sir." Dipper could try to play the innocent card, but the glimmer of mischievousness on his face and in his voice betrayed his act, and Bill knew he wasn't the pure-of-heart neutral good that he tried to portray himself as.

“You always look good for me, Pine Rose.” Good enough to fuck senseless, until he saw the stars like Bill did. He leaned down, kissing Dipper’s warm, soft lips and feeling him smiling into the kiss. When he started to pull away, dragging fingertips across the nape of his neck spurred him closer to slant their mouths together into a slower, more sensual connection, and a shaft of heat engulfed him at the first swipe of Dipper's tongue on his lips. He parted them to deepen the kiss, the taste uniquely _Dipper_ and he craved more. This kid was going to be the death of him and there was no better way to go, unless maybe he was balls deep in him.

Breaking the kiss, he swallowed the remainder of Dipper’s deliciousness. “What do you want to do?” he mused. “I could finger you, or eat you out…”

Recognition lit on Dipper, and he stared, alert with an off-kilter combination of intrigue, anxiety, adoration. It was throwing Bill for a loop, he didn't know what was going on with this. "Oh, that reminds me. I was going to tell you earlier but thought it'd be best to wait, and— and okay," he started, "here's the thing. I… I think that I might like it a lot if you'd— if we could…" There was more sputtering until he eventually managed, "If you're inside me."

“Inside you..?” More details were required, so Bill rephrased his earlier question, “Do you want my fingers or my tongue?” Anyone who thought he could ask that without lewd hand and tongue gestures, plus eyebrow waggling, was impossibly wrong.

Surprised, the inquiry seemed to momentarily confound Dipper, and Bill couldn't discern what the hell was happening when he merely blinked at him for several seconds until he made a prompting noise. "Um… yeah, no. I was thinking, like— penetrative sex," he could've facepalmed because that wasn't an increase in specificity, at least until he amended that with, "intercourse, as in you fucking me." Wait—  

Wait.

He _actually_ wanted him to fuck him? To slam into him until he saw stars? Bill's brain was short-circuiting. It was hard to believe, and he had to take a moment to stare at Dipper blankly. “You want me to fuck you?” he repeated back, disbelief gripping him.

Dipper's excitement had melted into some sheepishness, the anxiety there despite his attempts to mask it, but he was still smiling. "I mean, I'd like to try, if you want to." He'd seemingly taken too long to respond because worry had overrun as he asked, " _Do_ you want to? It's fine if you don't, I just thought it might be nice…"

Why wouldn’t he want to? It was surreal, having the option when Dipper spent too long with his legs closed. “I do,” he confirmed quickly. “It’s just– _holy fuck_ , are you serious?”

"I'm, uh," Dipper laughed, apprehensively intertwining his fingers, "yeah. I'm pretty serious about this. I wanted to talk to you about it because I've been thinking for a while, and I know stuff with us has been sort of… rough, lately, but it's also been kind of cathartic, in a weird way. Healing with you, trusting you— well, working on it, and maybe it's brought us closer. I know that sounds lame."

“It’s not lame,” Bill said, still reeling from this being _it_. At last, he could make Dipper truly his. “I think it’s endearing.” He leaned in, a quick kiss delivered to his lips. “And I’m so fucking ready. I’ve been wanting to do this since I laid eyes on you.”

"Do you mean four months ago or—" he began to ask, then brought a hand to his face. "Never mind, I'm not going to ask when that was, but wow. Good job Dipper, way to overthink everything when I'm supposed to be having my first time. Okay, so uh, where we were…?"

“Follow my lead,” he murmured as he kissed him again and felt him reciprocate, relishing in his heavenly taste. While Dipper's hands framed his face, his own hands slid across his lover's smaller figure, coming to rest on his pants as he began to pull them off. There was a dissenting protest and the hands cupping his face were gone, snapping out to grab his wrists and halt the removal of his clothing.

"W-wait," he sputtered as he broke the kiss, "I…" he seemed lost, like he couldn't find the words, and Bill's heart sunk as he wondered if he'd changed his mind about this. "It's… I'm— I'm…" still struggling to convey himself, there was a new tremor in his voice and Bill noticed it didn't stop there, his grip on his wrists was looser, which gave enough room to feel his adorable boyfriend shaking like a leaf.

“..Cutie?” he murmured out of pure concern, worried he’d done something wrong, and it certainly seemed like it when Dipper tensed. “Are you okay?” What did he do now?

Exhaling slowly as if to recollect himself, Dipper tried again, "I'm kind of… this is my first time. Ugh, I know you know that. Sorry, it's just…" his voice lowered, "a little— I don't know, overwhelming and nerve-wracking." Relief swept over Bill, and he nuzzled him as his hands drifted back along his torso.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We can go slower.”

"You're not going to…" the thought quieted until it tapered off entirely, Dipper's eyes brightening with a reflection of the relief he'd felt seconds ago. Bill didn't know what he'd been about to say, but it sounded suspiciously like Dipper had been concerned it'd play out like the previous time he'd asked to heighten their physical intimacy and things had gone south. Not in a good way, either. "That's okay with you? You're sure?"

He was sure. As much as he wanted to go to pound town, it wouldn’t be fun without Dipper’s consent. “Yes.” He leaned in, kissing him tenderly as his hands fondled his sides and stomach, meanwhile Dipper seemed to hesitate before basking in the attention, encouragement provided in the form of fervent kisses and the cutest happy sounds he'd ever heard. It appeared he'd made a great call, but of course he did. He was the grand talented-in-bed Bill Cipher, and he almost thought he heard a telepathic agreement from Dipper, taking into account how he was splendidly flushed when he pulled away, gazing at him with that moonstruck affection he'd seen earlier.

An astonished "oh my god" spilled from Dipper, a presumed involuntary reaction since it mildly startled him, and he brushed an exploring hand over his bicep, then shoulder, doing the same with his other hand to rest them both on his back. "Probably a dumb thing to say, but it's… it's just the moonlight looks really nice on you and your tattoos. Handsome."

Bill chuckled, fingers slipping under Dipper’s shirt as he removed it. “You look fantastic,” he said, eyeing up his smooth, pale skin. Lowering himself to settle atop Dipper, he began to kiss trails from his neck down to just above his hip bones, teeth grazing him as he went. Every time his mouth graced his stomach, he lived for the responsive flutter, Dipper's breath catching. Focused on his enjoyment, it was a surprise when he felt the hands on his back start to move, massaging circles into his shoulder blades and gliding over his tattoos, tracing his rib cage and spine. A flurry of anticipation surged from nowhere and everywhere all at once, tiny sparks erupting in his nerves.

This only urged Bill to continue the kisses and nips along his body, hands running down his sides. “Pine Tree,” he murmured after a couple moments. “May I remove your pants?” He wanted to get to the main event, to make Dipper squirm in pleasure beneath him, and a new, thrilling rush saturated him when Dipper nodded his consent.

"Yeah, I— do you want me to help?" Dipper didn't wait for an answer because he was wriggling to raise his hips from the bed, working his pants lower. Stars, Bill had no idea how he managed to get the garment to his knees without kicking him in the face, seeing close he'd come to doing exactly that over the past few seconds before he could assist Dipper in removing it the rest of the way. "By the way, when you're being that Southern gentleman you always claim to be— like asking if something's okay, it's sexy."

Bill couldn’t help it, he had to puff up in pride. “I was _always_ a Southern gentleman, doll.” And a damn fine lover. To prove it, Bill began to touch Dipper's thighs, stroking them fondly as his gaze fell on the outline of his arousal. Fuck, he was so close but so far away from fucking Dipper. It was driving him wild, though Dipper's ragged panting and writhing from being touched and that enchanting blush on his cheeks may have been stoking the need.

Dipper parted his legs to accommodate him, _silently beg_ him to keep going with a reminder of what they would be doing shortly, and Bill felt his dick twitch, excitement burning in his core and dispersing throughout his body like a wildfire. "God, that f-feels… so _good_ ," he said, head tilting back with a contented sigh.

He'd tried to ignore his own throbbing need, but Bill remained impatient to get to the next stage of their intimacy. “Cutie,” he murmured as his fingers grazed the hem of Dipper’s boxers, “may I take these off?”

He wasn't expecting the wanton whine that responded to his courtesy. "Yes. ...Bill, oh god. _Please_." The words sent a jolt to his cock, and he began to pull off his boxers, fully drinking in the sight of him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Dipper naked, but it felt like the only time it mattered. Dipper wanted him enough to expose himself, to offer himself to Bill like a sacrificial lamb, let  _dominate_ him most intimately. He’d savor every second of this, try to remember each detail so he could replay it for himself forever: what led up to this moment, Dipper's anticipatory yet semi-nervous smile, his prodding with a gentle 'you can keep going.'

Reaching for the lube on his nightstand, he coated his fingers and pressed one against Dipper’s entrance, the reaction compliant and easy. Once Dipper was accustomed to the basic sensation, he added another and took his time, the process gradual while he kept Dipper comfortable with minor reassurances spanning both physical and verbal. Like before, his digits were met with some resistance, but that was fading as his body relaxed around him, the slow process of eliminating any lingering discomfort. Unlike when he'd been fingering him to his finish, this was more thorough and careful, as he was trying to ensure Dipper wasn’t hurt when he thrusted into him because unplanned pain was never a good sign, no matter what porn attempted to convey.

After he felt loose enough and with prompting from Dipper himself, Bill withdrew his fingers and squeezed more lube onto them, before he spread it over his cock. Mind foggy, he wasn't sure when his boxers had disappeared but he recalled he'd been palming himself during the preparations. "Protection?" Dipper asked, then nose-exhaled a laugh. "I guess it wouldn't make sense when we haven't been using condoms this whole time with other stuff, and we're clean, so never mind. Um, do you want me… on my stomach? It might be easier—"

“Pine Rose,” he rumbled. “Don’t– don’t you dare move, this is good.” So fucking good, inviting. He had been waiting for this for so long.

Dipper shuffled his weight, tapping his fingers together. "Look, I asked because I don't know if you can uh, _reach_ from there?" Bill snagged a pillow, ushering Dipper’s hips upward as he slid it beneath him.

After he'd finished coating the slippery substance, he aligned himself with Dipper and began to push inside, slowly and gently. “Trust me, sugar.” Stars, this felt _amazing_ , better than anything he'd felt before as Dipper’s walls clamped around him. Definitely worth the frustrating wait to get to this point.

For Dipper's sake, he gave plenty of time to adjust and then some, letting him control the speed until he was buried to the hilt. "Still doing okay?"

"I think so. Yeah." Tuning into the rest of the world, Dipper was faring well, sucking in shallow breaths while his gaze was locked on him like he couldn't believe this was actually happening. Bill couldn't believe it either, he was inside Pine Tree. So long, all this time later. _Inside_ of him.

"Bill, I can… this is so weird. I'm pretty sure I can feel you— twitching," he reported with the tiniest shift of his hips, fascinated. "F-feels full, a lot better than your fingers. Not that I don't like it when you finger me."

“You feel really tight,” Bill responded with a moan to his words, and once given the signal by an eager nod, he began to slowly thrust into Dipper. “Fucking terrific.” Every time he drew back, it was like Dipper's body instinctually longed for him, the inviting grasp around his cock when he pressed forward again making the sensations all the more intense.

"Yeah, it's... _aah_ — um, super amazing," he agreed and gasped at a particularly quickened thrust, "like I can truly... I don't know, _feel_ you." Whether that was good or bad, Bill didn't have the opportunity to find out because Dipper was coaxing him into a heated kiss while Bill returned it, his tongue pushing into Dipper’s mouth as he took control. It was magnificent, the warm tightness surrounding his thrusting cock, Dipper's legs crossing over the small of his back to capture his waist with his thighs, his labored panting with each inward movement as they broke from the kiss.  

It was mind blowing, how fantastic Dipper felt wrapped around him. Indescribable wouldn’t cut it, the glorious sensation was beyond any drug high he’d experienced. All of his previous sexual encounters were woefully lacking compared to this when it was more than a physical connection, it was emotional and had been what Bill yearned for in his life for as long as he could remember but had nobody to share this level of intimacy with. After the struggles and pain they’d gone through, this was beyond worth it, and.. he wanted to keep his Pine Tree at his side, keep this unbelievable memory alive.

Forcing him to reality was Dipper's hands flattening over his shoulders once more, scraping over his back and producing a burst of fresh shivers. Groaning, Bill squeezed his hipbone to demonstrate his appreciation. But it got even better somehow when Dipper took it a step beyond, his fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades like tiny daggers while his back arched, highlighting his lithe and stunning frame. Stars above, did Dipper know what he was doing to him?

Bill bellowed a moan, and he could feel himself getting close to his peak. It wouldn’t be long until he was coming into his Pine Tree, but in his defense– it’d been a decent stint since he last had sex, and his previous partners hadn’t been remotely comparable. It was reasonable for him to climax after a few minutes when Dipper also seemed to be getting tighter, so trying to resist caving into that was a hefty order. Stars, this was difficult, but he couldn't be too hung up on it since Dipper was quivering beneath him while his flattering noises rose in volume and coherency was a mere afterthought.

“Cutie, I’m close,” Bill panted to him, and he wouldn't have been certain he could hear it over his own sounds and the rhythmic thump of the headboard against the wall if not for Dipper responding with the smallest of nods. Bill didn't mind, considering he found delight in the beautiful, high-pitched verbalizations of pleasure that escaped his Pine Tree. Shit, that wasn’t helping his ejaculation situation, meanwhile Dipper was _tightening around him_ , and great constellations in heaven, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep himself in check.

Snapped from the dazed state, Dipper choked out, "Oh! Okay, uh— let me just…" His hand slid between their stomachs, and Bill assumed he was pumping himself to speed this along, which was such a shame when he wished it could be dragged on forever, musing about how he could spend hours simply soaking in the hot static coursing through him, the addictive friction, watching Dipper's gorgeous expressions and hearing those lovely noises that instantly magnified his arousal.

"Bill, I'm— a-ah, oh god, _fuck_ ," Dipper gasped, words sliding between coherent and a mess of language, "please. I'm _s...so close_. Right there, just a bit more a-and..." It was impressive how he could semi-intelligently form sentences when he seemed completely strung out, trembling hard while he rapidly approached his release. Orgasming mere seconds later, Bill was without-a-doubt convinced it was the best thing he'd ever seen—Dipper's blissed moan, his eyes squeezing shut when he was bombarded with pleasure, his nails clamping into his tattooed skin.

And heard—a cry of his name on Dipper's tongue had Bill's eyes going wide with possessive desire. Dipper knew he was his, and gratification was served by the reassurance that _he_ was the only one who could do this to him, the only one who Dipper wanted.

And felt— _stars_ , how he tightened and convulsed around him. It was beyond breathtaking. Bill was trying to maintain his control longer with another thrust, then a second, but his body traitorously succumbed, a stream of pure ecstasy overpowered him as he pulsed and spilled into Dipper as deeply as he could manage. The high of euphoria left Bill drained once it gradually ebbed away, and he let out a huff as he began to pull himself from Dipper despite a protesting whine, watching as his seed dripped from him. Nice. Dipper was _his_ now, for sure. Externally and internally. His come inside of him, hickeys on Dipper's neck, and… oh, a few red marks where his fingers had been digging into his hips. Divine as always.

"Bill." It was a breathless murmur of wonderment, Dipper's inflection unusually affectionate as he regarded him, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Noticing where his attention rested, his legs tucked protectively in front of himself. Bill felt a flare of annoyance– why was Dipper hiding this art from him? "Wait, what are you doing?"

He gently pried his legs apart. “I’m watching you pulse,” he answered. “My cum is trickling out of you, and it's hot. Can I take a video?”

"Are you serious?" he asked dryly, heaving out a sigh while he started to sit up, once again ruining the view to Bill's discontent. But Dipper paused halfway through the motion, nose scrunching, and he flopped down onto the sheets. "Well. I think I can say with certainty that… that I just felt it, and it was the grossest thing ever." It sounded like the best thing ever, but Bill would’ve preferred it if it stayed in Dipper longer. Hm, maybe he should get him a butt plug? That’d keep it inside Dipper.

A golden butt plug that Dipper could wear outside the bedroom, and if they attended any orgies, it’d be a mark that’d tell the other participants his precious ass was off limits to anyone except him. The thought was making him drool.

“I’ll be back, cutie,” he gently told him as he moved to head into his bathroom. With a damp towel, he cleaned himself first, then took another cloth to Dipper to wipe excess lube and fluid from him. After post-sex cleaning wrapped up, he kissed him on the lips. “That was amazing.”

"Still was pretty gross," Dipper said while he threaded an arm through the sleeve of his pine tree-print pajama shirt, effectively diminishing hopes of sleeping naked. Bill's mind, still buzzing with the afterglow, couldn't find the strength to care about that when there'd be chances in the future to lure him into nude cuddling. "But it was nice," he curled up to him, "especially for a first time. I liked it, and… honestly, I kind of want to go again?"

Oh Stars, yes. Yes. Yes. He was more than on board with that plan.

Fuck. Except… his dick wasn’t working, why wasn’t it reacting? It was like some fucking limp-ass noodle that didn’t want to goddamn stiffen. Get hard, fucker. GET. HARD.

Shit.

“I want to,” his voice dropped in volume. “My fucking cock’s broken. It’s not _doing anything_ , what the fuck.”

At first, Dipper seemed confused and Bill inevitably waited for the disappointment, but it didn't appear. He smiled and nuzzled him. "Oh. Okay, yeah. Look, you're not eighteen anymore, we can just… wait a while or," a yawn interrupted him, "or maybe doing it tomorrow would be better anyway." What did he mean he wasn’t eighteen anymore? Bill was still young and spry too! He wasn’t getting old, almost twenty-six was the new _young_. His dick just needed some.. stimulation was all, and Bill tried to jack it back to life but Dipper caught his hand.

"Hey," he soothed, placing it on his hip, "don't worry about it. We can have round two tomorrow." Although Bill had been ready to retract his hand and exclaim that he _could_ do it but needed time, Dipper cut off the defiance with a passionate kiss that ended too soon. "If we still want to, and if I'm not sore, I mean." Bill’s expression dropped with disappointment. He wanted to do more tonight, while his Pine Tree was in the mood. He didn’t want this– to be told they needed to wait until tomorrow, that he _might_ want it then.

“Okay,” he sadly relented, his arm wrapping around Dipper, who pressed closer. He was exhausted and wished he was horny, and now all he could do was hope he’d be recharged enough to bone Dipper soon.

"Are you pouting over this?" he asked with a gentle laugh, delicately brushing his fingers over his cheek and stealing another kiss, this one on his jaw, then rolled onto his other side to face away from him. "Honey, let's just have sex tomorrow. I'm pretty exhausted as it is, and I'm guessing you are too, so… it wouldn't be fun if we had to force it to happen." Wait, did he call him ‘honey’? That was different. He liked it, honey was almost as golden as he was.

Nuzzling him, he kissed the side of Dipper's neck. “You're the sweetest, my dear. Goodnight." And when he heard Dipper's goodnight echoing his own, Bill naturally, on pure instinct, added, "I love you.” A pause, a realization settling with cold dread. Oh, fuck him. He shouldn’t have said that, Dipper didn’t love him, he never loved him– did he hear it? Fuck he hoped he didn’t, if he did they weren’t having sex again. They weren't kissing again, they were probably breaking up because they’d only known each other for what, a month? Four months? Not enough.

It was too soon to say that, and Dipper would want nothing to do with him. Great, this ruined his fucking plans to tell him he loved him. They were going to be grand, extraordinary, he’d have thrown an extensive banquet to celebrate the moment. All fucked up.

Now what was he going to do? Everything was ruined because of him, and he’d lose his Pine Tree to a stupid slip up. Fuck him. Pine Tree wasn’t even _talking_ or _acknowledging_ him. There was no 'probably' anymore, he _was_ going to fucking leave because he didn’t love him, because Bill creeped him out and scared him off. Shit.

Wait! He could fix this, a simple statement to cover his tracks in the event Dipper did overhear his confession. “Just kidding! No, I don’t.” Perfect. Ten out of ten Stars. Pine Tree couldn’t be creeped out anymore.

Beside him, he felt Dipper tense and heard his breath stagger. Fuck, what did he hear? The confession, the denial, or both? Go back to sleep, he wanted to tell him. He didn’t hear a fucking thing. "Sooo…" he started shyly, marvel tinged in his voice, "you don't love me?" There were slight shuffle-sounds, and Bill attributed them to Dipper's hand brushing idly over the bed sheets, suggesting Dipper was nervous and reminding Bill of how badly he'd messed this up. Of course he fucking loved him, that dumb kid, he just… he was scared, and he didn’t want Dipper to know that.

Panic forced his mind into default mode for post-sex encounters. He had a solution to this, and he reached over to his nightstand to grab change from the drawer. Reciting on cue, he said, “Here, you can get a cab at the corner.” And then he was up, heading out of the room without bothering to put clothes on. A call of 'Bill, wait!' resounded in the penthouse but he didn't stop until he was on the balcony, overlooking a twinkling sky and its city below.

Stars, he wanted a fucking smoke. It was probably the only thing that could calm his nerves, and he reached into where his pocket would’ve been– only to remember there was nothing there, he was bare. Smokeless. Fuck him. He wanted to kill himself. He’d given up smoking for the kid and now, now he fucking left him in bed with a cab fare.

He was fucking everything up.

The slide of the door had Bill twisting around to see who'd arrived, what unwitting soul would have the misfortune of crossing paths with him. Of course it had to be Dipper. His blazer was slid over his slim shoulders, sleeves hanging well beyond his hands, and Dipper wrapped it tighter around his body when he stepped into the night, stopping a few paces short. "What are you doing out here?" he inquired, confused but not upset. "And… and why did you give me cab fare?" Holding open his palm after letting the excess sleeve drop, he scanned over the coins and reported with amusement, "This will get me approximately… two blocks away."

“I don’t know,” he lamented. “I panicked, saying– _that_.” A bitter bark of a laugh broke his sentence. “I think I screwed everything up.” Dipper shook his head and grasped both of his hands, the coins falling into his palm, and Bill guessed that meant his lover wasn't getting a cab for a two-block ride.

"Which part? I can't tell which thing you said in a panic," he said, looking interested, worried. This particular expression hadn't come through in quite some time, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes examining, features twisted with curiosity but looking fearful of the answer. It reminded him of the early days of their interactions.

“What I told you in bed.” The ‘I love you,’ the words that left a foul taste in his mouth. “I’m sorry, Pine Tree.” His voice was quiet.

"Oh, uh, don't be. I don't mind if you don't love me, it's…" SHIT HE KNEW. "I was just surprised, because I _thought_ I heard you say it." FOR SURE. FUCK. FUCK. "And I was trying to figure out if you did, but…" FUCK. NO. WHERE WAS THE BACK BUTTON? "Then you said you didn't love me, so I don't know." UNDO. UNDO.

He DID love him, how did Dipper not see that? Not that he WANTED him to, but.. he didn’t think he’d be thrown off by his cheap aversion tactic inspired by _BoJack Horseman_. “I–”

"Look, it's okay. You don't need to be in love with me, we haven't been together that long. I get it, and you don't have to freak out or anything. Just… tell me when you're ready to," he consoled, rolling onto the pads of his feet to eliminate the space between their heights and kiss him. "Obviously there isn't any pressure to say it back since you don't feel this way yet, but I hope you know I do love you." After he'd gingerly squeezed his hands, Dipper's grip loosened, and he turned away from him. "I'm going to bed. Are you—"

“Wait,” Bill’s voice caught, trying to determine how his Pine Tree could be so bold and steal that energy, hoping he didn't lose his nerve when he saw Dipper had paused to hear him out. “I– fuck, I do love you.” It was hard to not sound ashamed. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, I wanted to make it special, to show you I could be a grand romantic.” And he ruined that, and there was no going back. 

Maybe… maybe it wasn't so bad. Dipper was gazing at him with the most dreamy, moonstruck look plastered on his cute face and a giddy smile that couldn't be bitten back. "Oh, wow," he breathed, cheeks coloring pink. "Honestly, that— why were you set on making it special? I don't think that could've been any better."

That surprised Bill. “You don’t?” He personally had thought it’d been shitty, far from perfect, and it meant a lot to him that Dipper enjoyed it.

Hands clasping behind his back and head ducking downward as if to hide the blush, Dipper scuffed his foot on the balcony. It was cute, how he tried to conceal the redness of his face. "Not really, I mean— I… I didn't think you were going to say that at all, much less now."

“I didn’t think I would either.” Bill expected to say it later on, when he was ready to make his Pine Tree swoon. It felt like he was cheated out of planning a surprise. “Not for a while.” Well, if he couldn’t surprise him with a declaration of love, he’d have to settle for proposing to him. They could have a billion dollar wedding. Marvelous.

“Let’s sleep, Pine Tree.”

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't be standing out here naked." Bill chuckled but winked at him, taking Dipper’s hand to head inside. Sleep would be nice after all this, he felt exhausted. He needed to recharge if they were going to have sex tomorrow, but at least some of the weight on his chest was alleviated with the confession, even if the rest would remain until the bank heist concluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter and thought the wait was worth it! Comments are appreciated. :)


	39. retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe, comment replies soon. (Thanks Season_Change, Allyce, MamMothFerre, Piqued Penguin, neon_zombie, LumianaKatenke, ProjectIcarus, Dosukei, Acewolf, incognitoburrito, lemonade_crybaby. <3)
> 
> Dip gets fucked again. 👉😎👉

It was finally time to watch his plan enter the last stage: enacting. They were gearing up for the heist, waiting on Ford to return from their supply room with combat vests and weapons and headsets, and Bill was nearly shaking from his excitement. The jittery flutter had crept in early, built throughout the day, and now it was threatening to spill over because within a matter of hours, it would be his turn as leader of the Owls. Stan would be dead and the others would either serve him or die fighting. He didn’t care, they’d be replaced easily by his top-of-the-line connections around the city who were frothing at the mouth for a chance like this.

Alongside successfully dethroning Stan, the most important aspect of this was the safety of his beloved Pine Tree, but that wouldn't be a problem when he'd foreseeably be far removed from the danger. Bill was still patting himself on the back over that one, convincing Dipper to remain at the penthouse during the heist. He wouldn’t be harmed in the slightest, not by an Owl, not at the hands of the Ravagers, not by the bombs Bill planted hours prior in strategic locations within the bank. Enemy bullets wouldn't be slicing through him because he'd be miles from the action. It ensured that when Bill returned, he would be greeted by his small boyfriend with love and affection, which was the exact time he’d promote him to his side as his partner-in-crime. He could see it now.

Of course, he’d need to break the news of Stan's death among any other casualties, but he didn’t think his Pine Tree would mind too much after the copious bullshit Stan put them through.

“Cutie,” he greeted Dipper as he approached the sofa in the living room, and Dipper peered at him over the edge of his book, which was placed on his stomach with precision presumably to mark the page. “I’m glad you’re staying out of this, I like knowing you’re safe.” A healthy dose of reinforcement wouldn't hurt anything.

"I know, this is probably the fiftieth time you've said that," Dipper reminded him, but it was with a patient, tired smile, evidence that he couldn't be too annoyed. Bill considered the possibility that he was in a better mood than usual because he'd previously explained his intentions of spending the night devouring mystery novels while he awaited their return.

What followed was quieter, hushed, like a secret only they shared, "I'm going to miss you, and I know you mentioned having a bad feeling about this heist, so… be careful." His gaze had turned pleading, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. "Don't do anything reckless or put yourself in danger."

Bill chuckled, taking a seat beside him and leaning over to plant a kiss against his forehead. In the low light of the penthouse supplemented by the moon's glow, he was gorgeous with celestial beams splashing over his pale skin and reddish brown hair. “I won’t, sugar.” If by ‘don’t be reckless’ he meant ‘totally blow up Stan with incendiary devices.’ Bill was a simple man with a big plan, and soon everyone would know not to fuck with him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

"Mm," he hummed, eyes sweeping him, "okay. Just be safe, and you know I'm going to worry about you until you're back and I can see you're alright. I hope everything goes smoothly." Near the end, the speed of his words had picked up in pace, a nervous laugh afterward while his fingers tapped on the cover of the book. "Promise I'll see you soon?"

“I promise,” he said. Further sentiments of sweetness were disturbed by Stan snapping at Dipper, utterly ruining the tranquility of the tender moment they were sharing.

“What the hell are ya doin’, kid?" His bark caused Dipper to jolt and lose his place in the book since he sat upright in alarm, then confusion took over, his jaw working like he wanted to say words but didn't know what to ask. "Get up and get ready 'cause we're about to leave." When there was no response but gaping, Stan gruffly added, "What, forgot you were comin’ with us or something?” Alarm snapped Bill to full attention. No, Dipper could _not_ go on this heist, he couldn't go near it for his own safety and to maintain the integrity of the plan. If he was there, it'd be a mess, everything would need to be reconfigured to account for the extra individual, and then there was the glaring problem of keeping him from harm's way.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Dipper, and a low, displeased growl from Bill. The asshole said Dipper didn’t have to go. Why the _fuck_ was he changing his mind?

"Wait, what? B-but I… we— you said it was fine that I wasn't going, remember? We talked about this a couple days ago, when we were watching television with Mabel a-and I said I wasn't attending this one," he rambled, visibly perplexed and fretting over this, fingers nervously scraping the cover of the novel.

Stan glowered at him. “I don’t care what I said, we need everyone we can get and Mabel ain't here. Get ready.” It wasn't a suggestion or an idea anymore, this was a command.

Dipper had been about to squeak out a protest, but Bill decided he was going to handle it. Dipper wasn't coming. End of story. “You don’t want him to go,” Bill jumped in, and Stan spun around to stare at him coldly, expectation in his eyes, as if daring Bill to make an argument. And oh, he had a brilliant one that would go directly against Stan's stated morals and guidelines if he disagreed. It was a risky move, a bold path to venture down, but it was his best option under the circumstances, leaps and bounds safer than if Dipper was going on the heist - what he had in mind would incur no bodily damage, though it would piss Stan off.

“We’re dating, deeply in love, and I plan on marrying his sweet little ass."

Its effect was immediate. Stan's expression darkened into something beyond murderous, his frown so deep that it may as well have fallen off, and the redness of rage burned on his cheeks then encased the entirety of his face within seconds. This fury was nothing Bill ever witnessed before, but the sight of it was _gold_. Maybe this would get him to force Dipper to stay. Meanwhile, Dipper's mouth was open in shock at the sudden divulging of information about their personal life, but the pure horror of what he'd done seemed to be fading, replaced by a keen understanding of what he was trying to accomplish.

"Honestly, yeah," he admitted with a puff of a chuckle, visibly shaken and stiffly scratching the back of his neck. "You've had us figured out for a while. We're dating, and—" Dipper stole a peek at him, sheepish. "I didn't know you actually wanted that, like for real. Not just because, y'know…"

“What the _fuck_ ,” Stan exploded, gestures everywhere as he wildly waved his hands into the air. “Do you two dumbasses know what you’re doin’? This ain't no high school, you can't just go dating willy-nilly! This is a job, a _business_ ," he boomed, "and I can’t believe you two, ya should’ve fuckin’ known better!" Under his breath, Bill heard him muttering about being out of time as it was, but he went on before either he or Dipper could speak, "You ain't off the hook. We’re gonna fuckin’ deal with this later, but ya can’t be together on this heist. I can’t have ya ruinin’ our shit. People _die_ because of this fucking childish stupidity!”

Although he looked afraid of Stan's palpable anger, Bill was proud that Dipper didn't seem to be backing down. "I'm not _going_ on this heist, remember? Besides, you keep saying that! That… we can't be on heists because it's too dangerous if we're dating so it'd _probablybebetterifIstayed_ ," he rushed in one breath. "I- I hardly know the heist plan, you guys have changed it since I dropped out."

Stan scoffed at his concerns, stalking away from them to gather supplies. What a coward, he couldn’t even face the wreckage of his actions. “Bill can fill you in. You’re both still goin’, whether ya like it or not. If ya try to back out, consider yourself kicked from this crew.”

Fear ignited in Dipper's eyes when he seemed to realize the terrifying extent of what he was being asked to do. No, not asked. Ordered. In what sounded like a last ditch effort from how his voice cracked, he reminded, " _Stan_ , I'm injured." Bill protectively moved closer to Dipper, his arm snaking around him to draw him into his side, and he was pretty sure he heard a frantic murmur of 'help.'

“You can still walk, can’t ya? Ford!” Stan’s voice rose to attract Ford's attention from their storage room, Ford calling back with a 'what?'. “Apparently the kid got hurt in the last thirty seconds, can ya check him? Also, do ya have an invention to make these idiots not love each other?" Stan talked over Bills growl. "It’s fuckin’ our shit up!”

“The only one fucking shit up is you. He doesn’t want to go, you shouldn’t force him into dangerous situations. What if it was Maverick?” The comment seemed to have unnerved Dipper from his display of fresh distress, and it'd visibly struck Stan, who seemed livid at the mere mention.

A gruff "hm?" responded, Ford entering the room and clearing his throat to give a pointed stare, as if that would silence him. But Bill didn't see the issue, there was no reason to hide behind a veil of secrecy anymore.

"What's this about Dipper being wounded?"

The question had been meant for Stan, but Dipper replied, "This is going to be a super intense heist, and my leg— it's still bothering me. Is that really safe?"

Approaching, Ford sighed, then cast an exasperated look in his direction while he knelt near Dipper. "What was it you were saying about these 'two idiots', Stanley?" he asked but seemed distracted by investigating the injury, the careful examination consisting of surveying the area, the stitches, how it'd healed.

Stan grumbled. “These _assholes_ are fuckin’ in love, Ford. Bill just told me so. They wanna get fuckin’ married, can ya believe it? It’s such fuckin’ bullshit.” Ah, but if it meant Dipper would be safe, it was worth it.

When Ford raised his attention from Dipper's leg to stare at him, his expression was of extreme displeasure, clearly disappointed in him. _Knowing_ , like he'd been certain the day would come yet hadn't predicted when it would, and it was amazing how his gaze alone conveyed a loss of respect for him over this. His sole reaction was a disgusted sigh and a shake of his head, but he didn't say anything about the relationship, mumbling about contending with the situation later during the debriefing session.

“It’s not our fault,” Bill responded coolly. “We were _meant_ to be with each other, Stan, even before your stupid rule was in place. If you must separate me from my _darling boyfriend_ ,” he purposefully locked eyes with Stan, observing the anger plastered on his features, “then maybe you should just let him stay home. We’ll find each other during the heist otherwise.” Although he heard the start of an agreement from Dipper, it was abruptly cut off when he cried out in pain, Ford's hand grazing over the worst of the slow healing wound and reducing him to tremors.

Seemingly desperate for the physical reassurance, Dipper blindly groped on the sofa cushions until he found his hand and wrapped his fingers into a death-grip, a suggestion that the pain was still intense as he hissed through his teeth. Great, he hoped it wouldn’t fuck his poor leg up more than it already was. Bill didn’t want Dipper to be at a disadvantage because Fordsy was unable to treat him properly.

"It's producing discomfort? I see," Ford muttered, disappearing into the bathroom with the extensive medicine supply, a choice he was cognizant of since Bill heard the squeak of the medicine cabinet door a moment later, then he returned with a pill bottle. "An anti-inflammatory should alleviate it. We can discuss more permanent solutions after the heist, perhaps once we've thoroughly covered the other _discussion_ ," Ford explained, and he handed Dipper several pills, a maximum dosage probably. _That_ was their fix? Some lame painkillers? Shit, Bill could’ve done that if he knew Dipper’s leg was bothering him.

“Is it settled?” Bill pushed, impatient with the arguing and examinations. “Dipper’s staying?” Stan shook his head, the fat, selfish bastard. The hope on Dipper's features ebbed into anxiety.

“He’s goin’,” he insisted. “The painkillers should kick in within the time it takes to get to the bank, he’ll be fine. Now get off your asses, we needed to fuckin’ go _five minutes ago_. Wendy and Soos are already on the way there.”

"Ah, right! The combat vests— I've taken the liberty of preparing them for you. I don't suspect that will be a problem, considering I've included the usual supplies." As Ford listed off what they'd have on their person, he distributed Stan's vest, his own, Dipper's, and finally offered Bill's. He took it begrudgingly, knowing he wouldn’t put it on– he had a different outfit planned today, one that would bring tears to Ford’s eyes as his precious twin was shot down. This was becoming more than revenge for past actions, Bill would make them pay for tonight. For endangering Dipper, disregarding his fears.

Ford drew his shoulders inward and stuck out his chest with authority, drawing the focus to himself again. "I realize we are doing this heist with lighter ammunitions to encourage stealth tactics, but do you all have your firearms prepared? Dipper, yours is in the gun rack."

“Yeah,” Bill said, sounding as annoyed as he felt. “It’s ready to blow some fuckin’ brains out.” Maybe Ford’s, if he continued to sour his mood. Which was a shame, Bill usually didn’t mind him. Did he really have metal in his head? At this rate, Bill would be finding out soon, and he'd enjoy watching the tissue burst into a pile of mush.

With Ford in tow after grabbing headsets, Stan headed out the door, calling behind him: “Remember, this ain't over just because we’re talkin’ about it later, ya fucks! You’re both in some goddamn DEEP SHIT, and I ain't afraid to fire one of ya if I have to!" Oh, but it didn't matter, not to Bill. Stan could talk about how they were going to be punished, but the reality was, 'later' for Stan didn't exist. "Bill, give the kid the rundown on the way there, and don’t be fuckin’ late like ya have been. We’ve been plannin’ this for years, _our entire careers_ , you’re not fuckin’ this up.”

The door slammed hard enough that it rattled pictures on the wall, and it left them with only one another in dead silence for a few seconds.

Raggedly inhaling, Dipper was bent over at an awkward angle, looking pained, miserable, afraid. The fear was unmistakable. Bill hadn't witnessed him experiencing an anxiety attack in quite some time, the last major one occurring before he'd started the medication, but it seemed to be threatening to take over as he coughed and strained for breath.

“Pine Tree,” he cooed, gently wrapping his arms around his trembling frame and holding him closer. Dipper's eyes snapped to his, and they were terrified dots; he couldn't see the brown any longer, it was lost to a sea of panic. “Relax, it’s going to be okay. I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you.” The effectiveness of his reassurance was hopeful with Dipper easing into the touch, appearing more in-tune with his surroundings, less like he was about to enter fight-or-flight mode and never recover. It was a baby step.

He nodded slightly but succumbed to a fit of wheezing, and Bill steadied his quaking shoulders, waiting for him to calm again. "...What do we do?" Dipper asked breathlessly once he could, and the despair in his voice made Bill internally swear he would fix this. He'd get revenge, he'd show them who they were messing with for inflicting this sort of pain onto him. It had to be killing Dipper, this helplessness, the feeling of being at someone else's will and forced into a job he wanted to stay away from.

“We’ll go on the heist,” he murmured, nuzzling Dipper affectionately. Bill wished he could reassure Dipper that Stan had no power. He could throw around the possibility of discipline, he wouldn't be living to see it because he'd die in the heist, the Owls would be under his control... if everything worked out. For once, Bill was nervous too, though he tried not to show it. Before, it had been nervous energy, now it was something closer to anxiety since his original plan had been derailed, Dipper was in danger, and it was fucking Stan’s fault. That guy needed to be burned alive with a stake up his ass.

A couple long minutes of controlled breaths had Dipper settling again, the cloudiness in his gaze giving way to a more alert state. He was still shaking, but he'd stopped gasping for air, and he'd uncurled from his hunched position. "We're going on the heist? I— are you sure? We'll get there and Stan's going to split us up." Yes, and while Bill didn’t like that, what choice did they have? If Dipper stayed by him, he’d be directly exposed to Robbie. Robbie wanted him dead, and he'd have the means to do it. Unlike the Owls, the Ravagers were bringing immense fire power to the heist.

“Trust me on this,” Bill murmured. “I’ll keep you safe, alright? I’ll find you if shit goes down. No one will harm you.” He’d kill anyone who’d try. No one would get away with hurting his Dipper.

Pulling from the embrace, Dipper hesitated and tapped his fingers together, shifting his weight. The panic must have subsided if he was back to hosting thoughts that consumed his attention whole. "Were you serious—" He seemed nervous again, but there was a twinge of something else. Adoration? Not quite, but close. _Giddiness_? "Before, I mean. When you said you wanted to marry me, like not because you think it'll keep you from being lonely or just to rile Stan, but…" Dipper trailed off, gazing from him to their rings as he grasped his hand and threaded their fingers. Well, this took a turn, and with how Dipper had teetered on the fence of commitment before, he didn't know how to process this. Bill glanced at their fingers, before he looked back at Dipper.

It begged the question: was he serious? He thought he was, but it– it was a huge step in their relationship, one he didn’t know if Dipper was comfortable with. “I was,” he quietly confessed. “I know it’s soon, but you’re the only one I want to be with, Pine Rose.”

Lovingly, Dipper squeezed his hand and brightened through a sickly paleness. "Maybe, we could elope? I know it sounds hasty and, I guess, it kind of is. So it's okay if you don't want to, but I thought with this heist and how much of a wreck it is, and now Stan knowing about us that it'd be better to… I don't know, run away. Please." Dipper's stream of consciousness spilled into words, fingers twitching, the uninjured leg bouncing with pent-up energy. "Remember how worried you were— _are_ , about me being on this heist? I don't want anything to happen to you either, like I told you that one night, and it doesn't have to be permanent but just until things settle down, or something."

“Is that what you really want?” Bill asked. He was down for it a hundred percent, but he didn’t want Dipper to rush into something he’d regret. “I don’t know about _running away_ necessarily, maybe if the heist doesn’t work out, but I’d like to marry you.”

Joy trickling from feverish eyes, Dipper's moment of pure elation was slipping fast. "If the heist doesn't work out?" he echoed, tilting his head. Did he not want Bill to follow through with his plans..? "I thought we could skip the heist and just… _be_ together, because then we'll be safe and we don't have to worry about it. I know you said you didn't want anything domestic," he sighed, "but I thought— I guess... uh, it doesn't matter. It was dumb." By the time he finished, his voice was an embarrassed mumble, and he was rubbing at his upper arms. Bill didn’t think his concerns were _dumb_ , just irritating when it meant he was expected to bail out of what he’d been scheming.

“Honey,” he cooed, nuzzling his neck and trying to ignore the wishy-washy reception. “ _I_ would like to see this heist through before we elope. I’ll keep you safe if you decide to come along.” Whatever they did after was a life they could create together, a future of their own design that wouldn't have to abide by anybody's rules because they would be in charge of their destiny. Stan wouldn't have a say, no one would. Just him and Dipper on top of the world, the power couple towering above the social hierarchy, like they were meant to be. Stars, he loved the idea. He loved Dipper.

"'If?' No, I'm coming with, if you're going. Pretty sure we're still being kept apart," he muttered and fell into his side with a defeated flop. "I don't know how I'll be able to be with you when I'm guessing I'll be put with, uh… are you on your own for this heist?"

"I'm with the dim-witted burrito-gulper."

" _Bill_." Dipper huffed discontentedly. "Don't be an ass. I'll probably be with Stan and Ford, then." Ah, shit. In reality, he’d probably be with Stan since the teams were going to be redistributed. Ford was assigned to Wendy. Stan was meant to be alone, that was a huge part of the plan because he’d be more vulnerable without Fordsy to save him. Robbie could probably take Stan out if he had the advantage of surprise, but if Ford was around, there’d be no stopping the older twins in a fight.

“You’ll likely be with Stan,” he said quietly. “Don’t trust him, sugar, he’s unreliable. Might shoot you in the back.” Untrustworthy, if anything were to ruin his plan completely, it’d be because Stan put Dipper in more danger. Dipper didn't seem to agree, his eyebrow raised in skepticism.

But Bill refused to offer a chance to defend that slimy crook's actions. “Come, sweetheart. We should go, did you want to pack real quick for when we leave after the heist?” He wanted to elope, but he didn’t want to run away from this life. What he desired was to take control of the Owls, it'd always been his plan from early on, he was just growing concerned things weren’t going to work out as he originally intended with Dipper coming. He didn’t know what would happen, and the unknown had his defenses firing up, preparing arrangements for a spiraling situation.

"Pack?" he questioned. "I thought we weren't doing the whole eloping thing."

“Yeah, do you want to hang around for Stan’s bitching? I don’t want to hear him lecture us about our relationship. He might even kick us out of the Owls over it.”

That was if Stan saw the end of the heist and debriefing session, which Bill didn't personally believe he would; however, he wasn't a stranger to the concept of having backups in place, and Stan escaping was one of the most possible hiccups that would be encountered. Everything was set to work against him but with Robbie controlling the confrontation and the additional complication of Dipper's presence on the mission, his hopes weren't as high as they otherwise would have been.

Swallowing hard, it took a second to truly register but when it did, he saw a fire ignite in that kid's eyes behind the throes of lingering panic. Ambitious desire, he knew that look, was oh-so-familiar with it and wondered if he should be more worried about his involvement in this heist. If he aimed to show Stan what he'd be losing out on by kicking them from the crew, Bill may have a spitfire to wrangle in and subdue somehow. But Dipper dutifully nodded, rising from the sofa to cross the living room to his bedroom. "So packing, then heist, and afterward, we leave..?"

Bill bit his tongue because ideally, no. The best case scenario would be the heist going according to his plan and leaving him in charge at the end of it, then there'd be no Stan-wrath in the aftermath of chaos. But in the case that Dipper's presence caused it to go under, or another aspect went awry, he confirmed, "Yes. I can tell you the rest of the heist plan in the car, and I’d rather not have to come back here.”

If Stan miraculously survived, he didn’t want to hear his bitching.

* * *

The drive was quiet, perhaps would have been tranquil if the downtime hadn't allowed paranoia to sink its razor-like, devastating teeth into the weaker points of the master scheme that turned into doubts that were escalating to concerns and now may as well be labeled as full blown fears. Why did it feel like everything was fucking going wrong now? The heist was off the rail, he didn’t know how he’d salvage what remained because of fucking Stan. Stan, that asshole that put Dipper in danger. That dick that kept getting in his way from being the rightful leader of the Owls.

Nothing had gone wrong, not yet. As far as he knew, everything was where it needed to be: he and Dipper were heading to the location, same with Stan and Ford. Soos and Wendy were likely already there while the Ravagers awaited the signal nearby.

Beside him, Dipper was humming out some nervous noises and muttering under his breath about the heist plan, probably trying to memorize what the general layout of the job was, what different routes everyone had. There was still a high chance he'd be placed with Stan, and Bill didn't like it, not a bit, because that was putting two targets in one spot for Robbie.

"Hey," Dipper spoke suddenly, softly. He squirmed in the passenger seat, a motion seen through the corner of his vision and audibly confirmed by the rustle of his combat vest and the supplies within, then he felt a hand take his own. "You look… stressed but it'll be alright, I think."

“You’ll be alright.” That was true if nothing else, because Bill would destroy anyone who neared him in a heartbeat. Dipper was his, only his. He’d always choose Dipper over everything and wouldn't let anybody inflict pain onto his lovely Pine Tree, not after what they'd been through together and the bond they shared.

"What about you?"

Uneasiness had drifted over him, into him, from the tenseness of the question. A good question, at that. Bill wasn’t so sure, not when everything he relied on seemed to be crumbling.

The sole thing he had left was Dipper, who he planned on protecting with his life. “I’ll be fine,” he told him. “Don’t worry about the heist, cutie.”

Dipper huffed in frustration and threw his head against the headrest of the seat, then squeezed his hand. "I don't care about the _heist_. I care about you."

“I care about you too, that’s why you won’t be hurt.”

There were a few seconds of silence with Dipper grazing the pad of his thumb over his hand, and he paused. "Are you—" he stole a quick glance at him, confusion scrawled across his face, "—why are you wearing gloves? You never wear gloves, I think the last time I saw those was… Oh wow, basically the night you came onto the balcony to harass me."

Shit, Dipper remembered that? Bill's jaw set tightly, he knew the night. The first night was ages ago, in which Bill distinctly recalled one suicidal Dipper threatening to end his life and Bill had come to enjoy a cigarette and time with his telescope. The kid was lucky he went out that night, but then he corrected himself mentally, citing they both were.

As for _why_ , well. It was part of his Owl Mask attire, not that he’d tell Dipper that. Then, it had been an oversight but now, it was a subtle giveaway of his ambitious clothing swap for the heist. “My hands were a bit chilly, you know?" Dipper's head cocked. "Fall’s starting to begin, it’s getting cold. Also gives me a better grip on my weapons.”

That explanation gave Dipper pause. "Is that why you also have your blazer…" he motioned at it vaguely, "buttoned? It's basically never completely buttoned anymore. It's kind of creepy, to be honest, it's like you're wearing all black."

Like he was hiding something, Bill mused, and on the tip of his tongue was a question about his general appearance since he hadn't seen it in a decent while, had no idea if he was looking as sauve as usual or like he'd rolled out of bed. Bill had made a point of covering the mirrors in their bedroom, uninterested in seeing his reflection when it was hit or miss, either a reflection of power and glory or a reminder that he was doing something terrible bound to paint him as the bad guy. Living with that wouldn't be easy, but his position on top of the city might soothe some of the burn. And Dipper's unconditional devotion, his endless loyalty? However blind, that would help too.

Although he was beginning to consider the idea of introducing Dipper to the _real_ heist plan, Bill was shaken from his thoughts by a startlingly coherent, prompting sentence, "I don't know why you're dressed like that. We aren't going to a funeral."

“It’ll help us during the heist,” Bill answered. “Not everyone should stick out like a sore thumb, cutie. We’ll be stealthy, like ninjas.”

Unimpressed, he said, "I'm wearing red plaid and a combat vest." Gaze checking over him again, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Wait, where's your combat vest? Why aren't you wearing it? I thought Ford handed it to you."

Ford did, but Bill didn’t think he needed it. “Shitty ninjas. And don’t worry about my vest, it’s under my blazer.” It totally wasn’t, not that Dipper had to know that. A combat vest wouldn't be necessary during this heist; nobody would be a danger to him when each side was friendly fire, and Bill didn't think the police would show up in time to make a difference.

A contemplative hum followed, and Dipper was squirming, struggling to sit up higher against the constraints of the seatbelt and look into the rearview mirror. When he did, he gave a skeptical huff and pointed out, "Yeah, no. I can see it's in the backseat."

“I have more than just one of them,” Bill snapped defensively. “What, a guy can’t have two almost identical safety vests?” For once, that was the truth because he did—one kept in his vehicle for freelance jobs, and one at the penthouse—but he wasn’t wearing either right now.

"Okay, okay, chill. What's your problem? You're acting super weird with— that," he motioned to his attire, "and you're on edge. Don't try to be all cocky or whatever, I can tell something's bothering you. Is it what happened with Stan earlier, telling him about us?" Acting weird, him? Bullshit. Bill was a smooth criminal, and he was _fine_. Totally okay, the best he'd ever been.

As a previous thought resurged, the only issue was not knowing whether or not he should tell Dipper his plans. It was Pine Tree, his sensitive and endearing boyfriend, who would be totally on board with it or freak out, go running to Stan the second he had a chance, _ruin_ he'd worked for. Bill had everything and nothing to lose at this point, and.. he knew he was willing to die for Dipper, to lay waste to an entire army if it meant Dipper would be safe. If he couldn’t entrust him with this, who could he?

It was placing everything on the line, exposing it to Dipper and praying to the Stars that his trust wasn't unfounded. “I have big plans with this heist,” he told him slowly. “Plans that will make Stan resign and give me leadership of the Owls.” For now, he didn’t need to know Stan _would_ be dying.

Then, nothing. Bill stole a glance at Dipper who seemed to be lost in thought, and if not for his teeth worrying his lip, he would have assumed he didn't hear him at all. A long silence engulfed them, heavy tension in the air, weaving through the spaces between them and he was afraid it was pulling them apart by the seams, this relationship they'd worked so hard to build, and rebuild.

This had been a mistake, but Bill kept silent, unsure of how to recover when there was no taking back the information. No redos, no possibility of undoing the past, but time forcing them into a future they weren't ready for.

Good thing they'd packed their bags because perhaps he could minimally salvage the relationship itself even if he had to abandon the heist, because if the ultimatum came, he knew what he'd do.

With another glance at Dipper after a brief stint of keeping his gaze on the road, his fingers were tapping in his lap but otherwise he was motionless, eyes straight forward onto the dashboard while his lips were twitching downward. Stuck in his own thoughts wasn't the worst sign, but it wasn't an enthusiastic response…

Who was he kidding? Dipper wouldn't be supporting him in this endeavor, it would be a miracle if he didn't leave.

Dipper opened his mouth, Bill prepared for the worst. "You never told me," he said thickly. "You're… seriously going to try to take his place? On _this_ heist?" Bewildered, maybe a pinch uncertain or afraid, the slightest bit offended — Bill could work with that, and he visibly relaxed with a sigh bordering on relief.

“I didn’t want you to come,” he admitted, and Dipper's irritation appeared to instantly spike, he could see defiance glittering in his eyes. “I was hoping you could be my second in command, but there’s a high chance of crossfire I wanted to avoid you getting caught in. Before I offered the positions to you, I planned on having the positions secured. I was–”

"How long _have_ you been working on this?" he asked but— no, he didn't ask. It was a snappish demand, and Bill wasn't sure how to gauge his feelings on this. He wasn't reaching for the headset resting between them, he probably wasn't going to cry to Stan. But the question remained, and Bill had no idea what he was thinking about, what million thoughts could be overrunning his mind.

As for how long, well, that was hard to say. He’d always wanted to be in charge and remove Stan, it was just recently that he wanted to plot a violent demise.

“A long time,” he said with a shrug, unable to specify exactly. “Some of his recent actions have really encouraged my desire to remove him, however. Like trying to kill us, or exclude you in the planning of this heist– telling you that you don’t have to be on this job, only to now force you at the last second. He’s a shitty leader.”

Considering that for a moment, Dipper made a 'mhm' noise and slowly nodded. "Yeah, I know he hasn't been the best recently. It's kind of strange, we talked about this a while ago—how you could be a better leader if you made an effort to care about everyone—but I never thought you'd actually plan something like this." There was a new rhythmic _thump_ , and Bill saw Dipper aimlessly kicking his good leg into the seat, oh Stars. That sign of displeasure suggested the moral lecture was right around the bend.

Dipper muttered, "Can't believe you didn't say anything to me until now. What happened to being the Los Santos power couple? I thought we were supposed to be a team."

Well, Dipper’s reaction could’ve been worse. The most essential element was secure, secrecy, since he wasn’t running to Stan yet. That was a plus. “We are a team,” he reassured.

"That's, uh, questionable since I don't know if not telling me something is being a _team_ , but…"

“I determined it would be in our best interest to make sure my plan went off without a hitch. I should have told you, but I didn’t want to risk you ruining what I had in mind.”

Gulping, Dipper frowned at him but it appeared his curiosity was heightened because his full attention rested on him and _mm_ , it was a good feeling to be in his lover's spotlight. "Ruining?" he echoed, fingers dancing in his lap. "What..?"

“I have something very specific in mind,” Bill explained, internally wincing at the reminder that 'had' was a better word for it because Stan had changed the heist at the last minute. “Normally I would love your input, but I arranged this to ensure the Owls wouldn’t be given a foothold in the bank. Stan will have no choice but to hand over his reign.” It would be hard to say no when he’d be lying face down in a pool of his own blood. "Then, it will be ours for the taking. You and me, Pine Tree, that's always what it's been."

"That sounds great and all, but you didn't want my help?" Downcast, Dipper's movements grew shakier, erratic, and his expression fell. "Did you think I'd mess it up? I mean, that kind of seems like what you're saying..." Bill let out a soft laugh, did the kid think he was saying he sucked?

It was quite the opposite. “No, my precious Pine Sapling. You’re too good at planning, have a moral compass of gold, and I didn’t want to risk you telling Stan about what I had in mind for the Owls.”

Relief caused his tense shoulders to slump into a more relaxed posture, a hand brushing through his hair. "...Oh, you—" this time it was Dipper's turn to laugh breathlessly, nervously. "You thought I'd tell Stan? I mean, we talked about how you'd do a better job as leader, so… logically I'm going to support you, dude. You're my boyfriend."

“I know,” he leaned over to kiss Dipper on the cheek, managing to keep the car in his lane despite a protest from Dipper about watching the road. “I was just worried about the risk, it’s easy to slip up.”

"I wouldn't have slipped up!" Dipper protested, but it wasn't too callous. "I could've been amazing at this, your partner in crime, y'know? I just wish you would've told me sooner because I could have helped you if you wanted it, I guess, and even in a firefight— I can hold my own, sort of." Being excluded from this had apparently hit his ego harder than he'd thought it would, Dipper taking it personally; not a surprise, it was personal since he was the morally good that probably thought it aligned with his values to confess.

“You’ve never done a coup before,” Bill reminded him with some amusement.

"Neither have you!" Dipper scoffed, but it was light-hearted and he believed he detected the faintest traces of excitement.

“You’d crack under the pressure of Big Daddy staring down at you.” Dipper wasn’t the type to remain calm if Stan questioned him.

It was almost endearing how his body trembled defensively, and Bill chuckled, finding it hard to remain serious. "And… and I didn't, remember? Stan _was_ drilling me about being in a relationship before, and I said nothing about us. Guess he knows about our relationship now anyway, but hey, I wasn't the one that told him."

“He didn’t seem too ruffled earlier.” Dipper seemed dubious, but he rolled his eyes, likely passing it off as sarcasm but Stan admittedly could have done much worse. And when they got back to the penthouse later, Stan wouldn’t be around to bitch them out. “He’d flip his shit if he thought we were having a mutiny, though. Put bullets in us on the spot.”

"I think we can be low-key about it," he said with a shrug, "but I don't know what your plan actually is. What do you want me to do, now that I'm on this heist?" The subject of actual upheaval action seemed to be causing him to fret a little, and Bill wondered if he was still doubting his own skills.

Nevertheless, it was difficult to say at this point when their plan had been fucked with. Dipper would be with Stan, and that meant Robbie would be led right to him. “You’ll be with Stan,” he said slowly, mind working through this as he spoke. “And Stan’s going for the main vault, so what I might have to do is get the police involved while you two are alone together. Preston will rig it so they don’t touch either of us," Bill knew that alone wasn't enough to guarantee their safety, cops weren't to be trusted, "and that can open up a chance to confront Stan when everyone else is distracted. He won’t have anyone for backup.” When the cops arrived, Stan would likely send Dipper away, leaving him alone. Perfect time for Robbie to shoot him in the back.

With a dutiful nod, Dipper agreed, "Okay. …Uh, wait. Nobody has to get hurt, right? Like, we'll be in a position where Stan doesn't have another choice but to surrender? Because I don't want him or anybody else to get injured, especially when they'll see you can be a good leader if they give you a chance to prove it."

“No one has to get hurt,” he said with casual emphasis on 'has' to cover his tracks later since Stan would be, he’d be so fucking dead. Dipper didn’t know it yet, but he’d thank him for taking out the bastard. “Unless someone endangers us _again_ , we won’t use lethal force.”

"That seems fair." Under his breath, Bill heard him add, "I just hope we won't have to."

Bill’s thoughts were disrupted by the buzzing of his phone, and he reached over to check the brightened screen, inwardly questioning who would be texting him. Was Robbie being an impatient bitch? Although he was in the process of blindly groping for the cupholder to find out, Dipper had snatched it away before he could, and he was messing with the unlock to read the message.

"Stan says Wendy and Soos were at the backlot of the bank and confronted by an officer for hanging around," he reported after his eyes scanned the screen. "I guess Stan wants us to take an extra fifteen to twenty minutes to show up just so it's not suspicious. We can space our arrivals, then it'll be harder for them to notice."

Perfect. That gave him plenty of time to call up Preston and let him know what he was planning. Ignoring the confused noise from Dipper, Bill pulled the car over to the side of the road, placing it in park as he exited the vehicle. Before Dipper could ask what they were doing, he announced, “I’m going to make a call, stay here.”

"What?" he asked and unclipped his seatbelt, staggering out of the vehicle as well to prop himself on the hood. Good Stars, it was like he was incapable of listening to Bill when it came to staying still, and he seemed to know it from the sheepish look he was being given under the pretense of feigning innocence. "Who are you calling?" More noteworthy was how amazingly fast that kid could move when he had a question burning in mind, other times he dragged his feet beyond belief.

Finding Preston in his contacts, he glanced at Dipper with some mild annoyance. “Preston. Hold on.” He hit the call icon and brought the phone up to his ear, irritated when after a few moments of he was sent to voicemail. “Preston, bank heist tonight. Big Daddy and Wrist-slitter will be there—"

At the name used to denote the Edgelord's presence, Dipper's gesture caught his attention, pointing to himself and mouthing 'me?' in confusion.

Bill shook his head at him, he wasn't Robbie. Similar stature, but not whiny enough. Then, suspicion hit him like a freight train, and his eyes narrowed. “Want a shot at them? Raid the west wing of the bank,” he continued as he grabbed Dipper’s arm despite the surprised squeak, and he pulled up his sleeve, examining the skin for any cuts. Ending the message to voicemail, he stared at the blotches of ink scribbled across his wrist with a puzzled expression. “What’s this?”

"My to-do list…" he said embarrassedly, trying to jerk his arm away to no avail. His other arm rubbed the back of his neck, and the explanation rambled rushedly, "I didn't have a piece of paper nearby, and I wanted to make sure I didn't forget anything, so I wrote it on my wrist instead." It was strange to Bill that he needed to keep this list. Reading, dishes, finding a piece of paper… it seemed easy enough to remember without writing anything down. Do something nice for Bill? That item on the list even had a winky face. Oh, Bill liked that idea. If only Dipper had remained back at the penthouse, he could’ve been naked in their bed, ready for him when he returned. It was just another reason to make Stan hurt.

Releasing that arm, he quickly checked the other for marks, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t worry me like that, Pine Sapling.” Assuming he’d been the wrist-slitter was a red flag after Dipper tried to cut himself before, though in retrospect, the reaction had likely been a product of being paired with Stan instead of the name. Letting go of his other arm, he pressed a kiss to his cheek, but Dipper didn't pull his limbs away this time; he clasped Bill's arms instead and tugged him closer.

Sympathy pooling in his gaze, he said, "I already told you I wasn't in that dark of a place emotionally. I'm doing better, I promise, and you don't have to worry."

“You’d better be,” he murmured, pressing himself against Dipper as he nuzzled him. “I love you, Pine Tree, and I don’t want to lose you.” It felt nice to say, putting aside the ounce of disappointment that the revelation wasn’t a grand display like he originally wanted.

"I love you too," he said, the words so wispy and light that he was concerned for a moment he was squeezing Dipper too hard, but he didn't seem to be in pain. "...won't lose me, but I don't want to lose you either, and this bank heist—" he stopped with a strained sigh, pushing into him desperately with a discontent whine falling from his lips. "It's— it's dumb, I know, but I'm worried something's going to happen to you, this method of taking over the Owls and everything. I wish you didn't plan it for this huge heist, there's so many moving parts to be aware of, things that could be wrong."

“Everything is going to be fine,” he told him gently, kissing his nose. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’m not going to get hurt, okay?”

Although he held his stare for significantly longer than what was necessary, he eventually said, "Okay. We should probably get back into the car and head to the bank, huh? I guess… maybe it's not time yet. I forgot Stan wanted us to hold off for a bit." Bill didn’t care if Stan wanted them to hold off or not, there was no reason to hang around on the side of the goddamn road. Besides, Bill was in a good mood, and he wanted to have some fun with his boyfriend. He was aware of and on board with his plans! How could he not be over the moon? Minor missing pieces, like Stan's impending death, were mere inconveniences that wouldn't require an explanation, so as far as he was concerned they were in the clear. The power couple couldn't be stopped.

Tucking his phone away, he headed back to his car, glancing at Dipper with amusement in his eyes. “Are you coming, doll? We can take a drive around town, maybe.. get cozy somewhere while we wait, if you catch my drift.” More like _dick_ , considering what Bill had in mind.

"Hm? Oh!" Dipper hummed, slipping off the hood and mirroring his movements to the passenger side as he started to climb in. "Yeah, I— wait, what do you have in mind? If we're going stargazing, don't go too far out of the city because I think Stan will want us close when it's time to start heading to the location."

“I’m not planning on going far,” he assured him as he pulled the car into drive. “I figured we could have some fun nearby.” Though an intrigued rumble resounded from Dipper, Bill was busy thinking, plotting, wondering where they could do this. Maybe park someplace quiet where they wouldn't be disrupted by external influences and have a good fuck in the backseat. Mhm, Bill would like that. But what would be a good place? He wasn’t going to fuck in some disgusting alley, they were above that.

Hm. Bringing the car onto the road, he kept an eye out for a spot of interest, evaluating their surroundings. Fields, a few stray buildings here and there, some commercial lots. Boring, and with this being a busier street, it was too close to where they could be interrupted in the act.

“The only star I’d want to gaze at right now is your eyes, anyway.”

"Oh my god, that's so lame," Dipper commented but sounded more than giddy, his cheeks flushed a bright red. If that wasn't enough of an ego stroke, he was squirming eagerly, stretching his legs out and shifting his weight like he couldn't wait to get down to sexy business. "You're the worst." He could claim that all he wanted, but those bedroom eyes didn't lie. Oh, he knew he was the best, and he knew Dipper would _love it_ when he was pounding into him.

He could almost feel his tight hole now, the thought going straight to his dick, and the temptation of pulling over and fucking him on the side of the road was testing the limits of his patience. But no, this wasn’t an adequate location– he needed somewhere that made an atmospheric difference. Like a church. That was an idea. What better place to fuck him than holy ground? It was Bill’s domain as it were. He was a good Christian boy, basically God himself. Brief contemplation brought fantastical memories of wanting to fuck Dipper over an altar, but he knew the building was likely locked. It'd have to wait until another occasion.

Bill surveyed Dipper through the corner of his eye, admiring how he squirmed with desire. “Don’t be afraid to touch yourself, doll,” he said, voice husky. “I have lube in my glovebox.”

A click and rummaging suggested he'd started digging through the glovebox. "Yeah, I don't really think I'll be able to do that, not with a seatbelt and everything. I guess I could do it in the backseat, but that's still super dangerous, and I don't know…"

“Backseat,” Bill responded definitively, finding it hard to contain his excitement. “I’ll drive extra safe, cutie, if you work yourself open for me.” Prep himself with his legs spread invitingly, just begging Bill to plunge in and take him again.

"Do we even have time? I'm not sure when Stan will want us in position at the bank." Dipper was fussing, but his actions told another story as his seat leaned back, and Bill saw him scrambling over into the backseat with the lube in hand. Oh Stars, yes. "So to save time, maybe I'll just… uh, pleasure myself. Your intervention isn't needed." Cheekily, he added, "My fingers will probably be better than you anyway." Nostrils flaring, Bill realized that sounded like a _fucking_ challenge, and he was going to prove that little shit wrong. Dipper would be moaning for him, begging for his cock and wishing his fingers would bring him _half_ the pleasure Bill’s dick did.

“Prep yourself,” he growled softly, possessively. “If you finish, that's too bad for you because I’ll just have you anyway.” It wouldn’t be as fun, but he’d still cream in his Pine Tree.

"Of course, sir," he purred from the backseat, "I don't know if I can make any promises though, I know exactly how I like to be— _oh_!" The last bit was a lascivious sob and Bill strained to see into the backseat, eager to fan the flames of want with visual stimulation, but he couldn't adjust the mirror into the right angle. Frustrating, and he couldn't _believe_ Dipper right now since the noises were exaggerated as he made them, loud wanton moans and whines. " _Oh god_ ," he groaned, and Bill heard shuffling on the seat; he could imagine Dipper scooting back, desperately trying to take more of his fingers. "Y-yeah, I think… I think you can stay up there, I'm good."

“You’re not good until I’m balls deep in you,” he grumbled. The point of this wasn’t for Dipper to masturbate, Bill wanted to fuck him! Stars, that church better fucking show up soon; he was searching for it in the darkness of a foggy night with renewed viciousness, gnawing the inside of his cheek to maintain his focus. Bill wasn’t in the mood to wait long for Dipper, if it took more than five minutes he’d be spontaneously parking and pouncing on the kid.

"Nah, don't worry about it," he said snarkily, Bill could hear it in his voice, knew he was smirking and _aware_ of what he was doing to him. "I think I can finish on my own, but thanks for the offer. Turns out my fingers are better than you after all."

Bill’s voice dropped to a growl, wanting to take him _now_ , show him what he was missing. “”Pine Tree.” The fucker, he knew exactly what he was doing, the game he was playing, and Bill couldn’t wait to teach him a lesson. Fortunately for Bill, the church was coming into view. As soon as he was in front of the building, he parked the car hastily and climbed into the backseat with Dipper. Getting over the console was a pain, but the reward of being able to drink his boyfriend in was so worth it.

What a gorgeous sight. Dipper was bent over on the seat, cheek pressed to the leather, eyes glazed in pleasure, with his hand snaked between his thighs and his fingers buried inside him, ass raised invitingly. "Oh," he said as he registered his presence, "hey. Sorry, man, I don't need you." The glint of mischievousness in his gaze confirmed Bill's suspicions: this was an attempt to rile him. And it was fucking working.

In the next second, Bill’s pants were unfastened, and he pulled them down with his boxers while making eye contact with Dipper in the process. “I’m going to fuck you until you never want those _inadequate_ fingers again, cutie.” He’d be filled by him, and only him.

"Noo, _don't_." Dipper's protest was lackluster, making no move to stop the thrusting of his digits, "you… you savage." The wording was a bit awkward, but it was Dipper, so he expected as much because it wasn't as if this recently-devirgined mess of nerves was going to be a master of dirty-talking in bed. Or in the backseat of his car, under the circumstances. Bill grabbed the lube and began to gather it over himself, predatorily smirking at Dipper.

“I can’t _wait_ to take you."

Bill saw the shudder of delight pass through him, yet he clung to his resolve and challenged, "Don't you dare."

It had him nearly drooling, what Dipper was asking him to do. This was exploring consensual non-consent territory, a favorite kink of Bill's, but he knew they'd have to establish safety before going further. “You won’t be able to resist me, and even if you wanted me to stop.. well, it’s not like there’s some _magic_ word to save you, if there was it’d probably be a fucking stupid one."

"Like 'rhubarb'?" Dipper scoffed at the notion, and Bill was silently pleased that he seemed to understand the intent of confirming the safeword. "Yeah, that is stupid, but it's not like you're going to get the joy of _having_ me, Bill, so I don't see the problem."

"You’re completely at my disposal, sugar.” Bill wasn’t going to concern himself with the specifics when he had a Pine Tree to fuck. Once he was thoroughly covered in lube, he began to align himself with Dipper, shooing his fingers away as he pushed into him.

"Bill, _no_ ," Dipper stressed, already wriggling from his reach, twisting awkwardly to ensure he wouldn't be entering him at this angle. What the fuck was this? He went from teasing him to _trying to escape_. Oh, Bill would make this rambunctious sapling pay for his crimes.

Bill shifted upward, moving to try to pin Dipper down at an angle he could penetrate him. It appeared Dipper wasn't done fighting because he was squawking out, lightly kicking at his ribs to keep him at bay. Stars, _yes_ , this was better than any of his old fantasies of fucking him as compliantly submissive, this gave him somewhere to go. Dominating Dipper into that state would be infinitely more satisfying. It was beyond amazing, even with Dipper’s feeble attempts to fight back, and he made a point of catching his leg and pulling toward him. He was mindful of his injury, not wanting to disturb the wound, while he drew Dipper into a fierce kiss. Although it was returned instantly with the same ferocity, a tiny growl was muffled by his mouth, far more cute than intimidating. Dipper had grabbed fistfuls of his hair, forcefully pressing their mouths together in heedy, fiery contact, and apparently decided things weren't rough enough because he was biting at his lower lip, as if teasing him to rise to the occasion.

Bill shoved him back against the seat, teeth clanking together by the sharp, sudden movement. He nipped harshly at his lips, then along his neck and jawline. He knew there’d be some pain, but it wasn’t hard enough to break Dipper’s skin, and _the kid wanted this_ , how he was gasping in awe, grip tightening.

"You're a… a brute," he breathed, one hand untangling from his hair to push roughly against his shoulder in an attempt to fend him off while his fingers dug into his shoulder. "Southern gentleman my ass. Get off of me." Dipper kneed him in the side and coiled his body, landing on his stomach — oh, what a mistake. Or maybe he intended it, the little cockslut.

Bill chuckled, aligning himself so he was pressed against Dipper's entrance, feeling his hole already begin to stretch around him as he pushed inside and was met with grasping warmth. He'd missed this so much, didn't know how he'd gone without it for months before Dipper finally let him go all the way. “I’ll Southern gentleman your ass, alright. Only it won’t be _gentle_.” Dipper's amused snort cut the seriousness of the situation, but he managed to regain himself quickly with a feigned snarl, wriggling, but that was stopped by a hand pressing firmly on his back. He was pinned, and it was excellent.

"Bill, you _jackass_ ," Dipper snapped at him and tried to move but couldn't. It was everything he ever dreamed of, this helplessness, this complete imbalance of power that rendered Dipper unable to do anything but take it as he began to thrust into him. And despite what he said, he was fucking loving it, a smile threatening to break through his frown, panting softly between noises of pleasure. Dipper was splayed and at his mercy, his knuckles whitening as they held the seat in a death grip. His hair was a matted mess from sweat, a blush staining his cheeks, and Bill wondered if he looked the same, if Dipper was as turned on by this as he was.

Simply _needing_ each other so badly that they took an impromptu pit stop before a heist and were in the process of getting it on in his backseat, the erotic nature of the situation was making him dizzy.

Maybe it wasn't the situation at all, though… maybe it was Dipper. Dipper whining at him, dropping the fake resistance to give in and accept his fate. "A _-ah,_ Bill! Oh god, that feels so— f-f..uck, _faster_!" The mantra of crying out for more couldn't have been hotter, becoming more strung out. "Please, oh plea— _yes_!" Bill let out a low groan, enjoying the sensation of his tightness clamped around him. If there was a heavenly eternity, it had better be this because nothing would surpass intimacy with the love of his life; Bill felt a burst of pleasure as his hand came to pull on Dipper’s hair, his walls squeezing in response with a startled squeak following. Great Stars, this was amazing.

Once Dipper recovered from the show of aggression, he snipped, "Hey!" But that wasn't the safeword, Bill knew he couldn't be too upset with it. He tried to squirm from his grasp but was thwarted by the hand on his back and the other in his hair, to which he huffed, "Let go of me!" He seemed to want to add more but paused to moan, biting his lip to keep it stifled, presumably to avoid extending the gratification but that was in vain when he knew how much Dipper was loving this. Besides, Bill wasn’t planning on letting go of this sweet piece of ass, not anytime soon. Dipper was his, and he was going to _wreck_ him and make him _admit it,_ how badly he wanted this.

Continuing to fuck him, his fingers dug into Dipper’s hips, and he felt his protesting shift beneath the digits. “You like that, you fucking whore?” he panted, the friction mounting and causing his pace to stutter as a wave of ecstasy stunned him.

"N- _no_ ," Dipper breathed, narrowing his eyes at him contemptuously. "I-I hate it, and I—" He couldn't seem to hold back a pleased cry, a direct contradiction to his previous statement. "I fucking— _oh god_! ...hate you. _Stop_." If he didn’t want to be fucked, he knew the safeword. With that in mind, the words went south, right to his dick, and Bill increased the pace of his thrusts. A biting, acidic squeal of " _Bill_!" burst from Dipper, and he tried to squirm again but could only clumsily claw at the arm holding him down.

“That’s ‘sir’ to you,” he rumbled, keeping his Pine Tree in place.

The response was an immediate opposition. "No. Fuck that."

Bill thrusted roughly, invigorated by Dipper's squeak beneath him. “What was that, doll?” Disobedience could be easily punished with a good fucking.

" _No_ ," he repeated but it was whinier this time, like he was trying not to cave in to his desires. Bill wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to convince when he said, "I won't call… call you that— _a-ah_!"

“I think you will,” he breathed, nails digging in deep enough to leave marks on Dipper’s hips. Greedily, he enjoyed the glorious curve of his back, his brown eyes glazed with lust and passion, the influx of sweet sounds tumbling out of him. “Pine Rose– I’m getting close.”

"Wait, d-don't— don't finish inside," Dipper sputtered, voice cracking with a full-body moan, a dazzling sight with how he shuddered beneath his weight. "Bill, please.." Oh, but how could he not? Dipper’s hole was hot, inviting, _eager_ to be filled by him, getting tighter by the moment with his boyfriend's inevitable, impending release.

Bill kept thrusting into him, trying to hold out as long as possible as he urged Dipper to come, but to his frustration, he simply panted, "Bill. Don't." The strain in his voice, the little keening noise attached to the end of it suggested he was reaching his limit though, and soon his hips were twitching forward and bucking erratically. Only a bit more…

Squeezing his eyes shut while he appeared to be overwhelmed with a burst of pleasure, Dipper arched up and trembled, small incoherent noises falling from him as he rode out his climax. Bill pressed into him, thrusting shallowly a few times more before he buckled in pleasure, his release spurting into Dipper without restraint. It was satisfying, filling his Pine Tree, marking him as his. Dipper would be dripping with the physical evidence of their encounter, and the thought was so very enticing.

Still shaking, Dipper melted into the seat and breathed, his eyes lidded to the point of being near-closed and frame heaving with exertion from the intimate exchange. "W-wow," he said dazedly, "but god, Bill. I… I wish you hadn't done that."

“You’re mine,” he reverberated, possessively biting his neck and sucking on his skin to leave a blemish, and he heard Dipper sigh contentedly under the touch. “Are you upset? You didn’t safeword.” If it was a real issue, he should’ve.

"I know I didn't." Bill wasn't sure if Dipper had intended for that to sound regretful, but it seemed to be deficient in that regard. Finally, his wide eyes fluttered open and trained on him, windows into the affection he'd been holding back from minutes ago. "Just… ah, before a heist? Jesus Christ. I can't even believe we did this."

After nuzzling Dipper, Bill smirked as he pulled out of him, watching the aftermath with his usual fascination, and Dipper's features scrunched in an adorable display of displeasure. “Oh, you’ll be feeling it during the job, cutie.”

"Ugh, I hope not," he mumbled flatly. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

“You’d better start.” He kissed his nose, properly refastening his pants and helping Dipper do the same with his.

Hoisting himself up seemed to be a struggle, and Dipper stopped to stare at the seat with a troubled expression. "Bill, uh, your backseat is kind of a mess. I'll clean up later, okay?" Oh. Oh shit. No, his car was a fucking mess now. He should’ve fucking thought this through, they should’ve done it outside on the fucking ground. Shit. How was he going to get this out of his seat? He needed a power soaker. Now.

Bill groaned, “Fuck me.”

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I should've realized before we did anything that it wouldn't be… clean, I guess." Dipper's distress over it was touching, and he seemed distracted, probably calculating a million ways to remove the eventual stains, while he pulled up his pants and boxers the rest of the way. Frowning, Bill returned to the driver’s seat, adjusting his slacks to fit more comfortably. His Pine Tree was sweet, but they had no choice but to let the stains… soak into his precious seats as the heist commenced.

At least the payout would be good, with Stan and Robbie’s deaths and the Owls under his control. Happy days.

Beside him, Dipper was doing the same, readjusting his clothes after freshly positioning himself in the passenger seat, and he raised his eyes to the windshield, breath catching after a particularly fast inhale. "Um." Stunned, he looked to the church, then to Bill, and back again. "Holy— we're at a _church_? Bill, oh my god. We seriously just… wow."

“What? I thought it was the most ideal place to fuck.” The bell tower seemed mysterious, shrouded in the fogginess of the evening, and the grounds were beautifully haunting in the ghoulishly gray-blue glow of moonlight piercing the night's veil. Bricks were cracked in some places but the building remained sturdy, its age on display from dated architecture and a graveyard decorating the backside of the lot with varying stones marking the place of its residents.

"How is it the ideal place? It's…" his frame quivered with a shudder, "I feel like we dirtied their holy grounds or something." What a coincidence! Bill _dirtied_ Dipper’s _hole_ , and his lips quirked up in a smirk, amused by the display of false innocence.

Really, he wanted to fuck him inside the church. His Pine Tree should be grateful this was merely outside. “Would you rather fuck over a pew? Because cutie, the night’s still young. We could break in.” He’d let Dipper’s filthy imagination do the rest, and it must have snagged his overthinking reflex and caught on because he was turning red once more, tapping his knuckles together with a suspended breath.

"Bill…" And if he had been about to go on, it was disrupted by another train of thought as his eyes snapped to the board outside the stony building, lighting with excitement. "Oh nice, it looks like there was a wedding here today, according to that."

A wedding? How uninteresting, bland. There were more exciting things to look at beyond the sign. Sliding his attention to the graveyard again, Bill could glimpse the sight of a man standing over a grave being dug, another in the hole as his spade sent dirt flying into a pile beside it. Stars, he wanted to see Stan six feet under, his corpse cold and stiff, fucking _dead_. Ford could cry over it, cry over the only brother he had left. It was a reassuring, warm thought, and he was ready. Ready for the fall of Stanley Pines, and Bill Cipher’s ascension into Godhood as he took control of the Owls.

He'd just came, but the thought was arousing.

Dipper could live in his own little fantasy world and think about weddings in general — maybe their wedding — but Bill had better cognitions to entertain today. The contrast of their thoughts, a funeral versus a wedding, was stark but seemed oddly appropriate here. Nonetheless, he motivated himself with the idea that he would soon be in charge, and Los Santos... The city would tremble before him, beg for mercy, and he’d give them _none_.

“We should get going,” he told Dipper. “Stan will be expecting us soon.”

The ride was thankfully uneventful. Bill was giddy, prepared for the heist of their lives and to enjoy the last time they’d see Stan… alive. It was exhilarating, knowing he’d be gone soon.

And now, as they rolled up to the designated spot to stash his vehicle for the heist, a dark alley just down the street from the bank, it was finally time. The hour of reckoning was at hand, Stan’s death would happen within mere minutes, and Bill?

Bill couldn’t wait to be the boss of the Owls, the unchallenged king of Los Santos.

It was remarkable to him, how easy it was to get to this point. Stan and Robbie were both fools trapped under his thumb, and manipulating both to do his bidding had been a slippery slope of complete and utter success with no drawbacks until tonight. Stan should have thought a lot harder about his heist if he truly wanted it to go off without a problem, but alas, he was too enamored with the idea of robbing a bank and the payout it'd incur to care about the specifics that Bill had meticulously mucked up.

“Are you ready, Pine Rose?” he murmured, killing the engine as he opened the door, and he saw Dipper readjusting his combat vest again before following him from the vehicle.

Behind him, he heard the trunk opening, then closing. "Yeah, coming. I just had to…" he made a vague motion with his free hand, the other gripping his rifle, then directed the gesture toward himself, "it got kind of messed up when we— um, y'know." With a cough into his elbow, he was increasing his strides to match his and walk alongside him, eyes alert and scanning the premises. It was adorable, and Bill found amusement in how he avoided actively talking about the fact they just fucked.

"Where is the rest of the crew?"

“Down the street, the other side of the alley. The cops can't close us in then, and I don’t want to risk my sweet ride getting fucked up by some stray bullets.” He wasn’t fucking stupid, he knew Thompson and the cops were poor shots, he planted explosives throughout the building, and there wasn’t a need to have a close getaway when the ambush was something he was ready for. He'd be avoiding car damage inflicted by the possible collapsation of the building and ensuing rubble, the thought sending thrilling sparks through Bill because it would be greater destruction occurring at his hand. The bombs had been a nice touch on his part.

"Oh, I thought it was because Stan was worried about the cops," he said, "which is pretty valid, since there are going to be six people standing around with guns outside of a bank. I think I see them up ahead, looks like everyone beat us here." Once he finished speaking, he shouldered the rifle to wave at them, and Ford waved back, but his was not a friendly response - it was an encouragement to hurry themselves. Cocky fucker, Bill would put him in his place once Stan was gone. He’d make him regret being so damn bossy. The guy couldn’t even do simple scientific equations. He didn’t see the flaws in the plan they devised, how it put Stan at a disadvantage while Bill endangered the crew, and he was too preoccupied with pretension to see it.

“Brainiac,” he greeted him as they neared. “Did you miss us?”

Ford's expression sculpted into impatient displeasure. "You're late," he said, "and I'm not even going to inquire about what kept you. I believe we're ready? Ah, right, I nearly forgot. In light of _recent discoveries_ , Fez and I discussed different arrangements for this heist, and Pine Tree, you will be with him." Ford nodded to Stan. "Everyone else will remain assigned to their tasks: Ice Bag and I are lookouts, Question Mark and Bill, you two are going through the bank for extra security. Each team leader should have a headset prepared and..." he clicked a button on his own device, "on. Do not clutter the channels, report if there are issues but otherwise stay muted." Watching Stan follow suit, Bill supposed that was his cue to do the same.

"You got it!" Soos said with a thumbs up and an irritatingly gleeful smile that extended from Ford and Stan, then to him. He'd have to lose Soos somehow, confuse the guy into branching off, that shouldn't be hard.

Although Dipper was also peering to him in concern, uncertainty, Bill waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever you say, Sixer." The name was intentionally grating Stan. "Can we get this started?” He was eager to begin, wanting to signal the Ravagers sooner rather than later because he'd bet they were impatient too.

"Right," Ford muttered and looked to Stan, awaiting direction. It was great, how he liked to act superior but was really hanging on Stan's every word, waiting to comply to his wishes, not that he would ever admit it.

“Let’s go,” Stan rumbled. “C’mon, kid. Get your gun ready in case we get into trouble, can’t afford to have our guards down.” That would be the least of Stan’s problems in the coming minutes. Bill shook his head, trying to hide the grin that grew across his face as he headed to the rear side of the bank with Soos.

"It's weird, huh? You and me together? Like, that's weird, right?" Soos didn't pause, giving him no time to respond, not that he would've anyway. He didn't have daylight to waste on this conversation. "I could totally sense some tension over there with the gang," a laugh interrupted the sentence, and he tugged on the collar of his vest, "or maybe that was just me, dawg."

As Soos blabbed on about nothing in particular, Bill tuned him out to focus on navigating the bank's winding hallways, familiarized only by blueprints. Sharp corners and narrow hallways made for spectacular ambushing spots, a maze of offices and lounges that would puzzle the panicked escapee while the downstairs lobby would become a shootout arena for the survival of the fittest.

This was fantastic, he knew his plan couldn’t fail. The bombs were in place, ready to detonate, and while he was inconvenienced by Soos, he knew he could dispose of him if necessary. There were many Soos’ in the world– he wasn’t unique, Bill could find someone better. Someone he could trust with a gun.

It was becoming tiring, listening to Soos' incessant blabbering, and he glanced around to see if he could distract the doofus. Shooting him would be a straightforward solution but would undoubtedly alert the crew to an impending attack, the element of surprise wasted. “Hey, Question Mark. Can you peek around the corner, see if there’s anyone around?”

"Sure thing, hambone. Hey, funny story about corners, one time I…" Yeah, Bill wasn't going to listen to that. What was important was how Soos plodded away like a drunken bear down the hallway, and Bill again wished he could put a bullet in him, but alas, that would ruin his plan. Alerting the others would destroy everything he'd worked for, however tantalizing it was.

With Soos preoccupied, Bill retreated to slip away down an adjacent hallway. Whipping his phone out, he fired off a quick text to Robbie, letting him know it was go time and to come through the side entrance. The adrenaline driving him could have been through the roof when he almost instantly received a reply that said Robbie and the rest of the Ravagers would be there in a minute. They must have been stationed nearby, maybe eager. No wonder the cops were wary of crime with many unusual vehicles parked around one building, and that building happened to be the bank.

And boy oh boy, he was right in his estimate. Shortly after receiving the text, the alarms of the building blared. A mechanical scream that resounded throughout the older structure, warning of unauthorized entry.

Through the headset, Stan demanded, "The fuck is that? One of you dumbasses set off the alarm?" In the background, Bill heard Dipper's cry of 'it wasn't me, man!' and Ford reporting that he and Ice Bag hadn't either.

"Dude! Dude! Duuuude!" Someone was calling, and Bill wanted to groan. As he turned around, he saw Soos running through the hallway, looking every which way for him before sprinting over. "What's going on, do you hear that?" Considering Soos had to yell to be heard above the shrill alarm, it was a safe bet that he did.

"Cipher, did you—" The question was stopped by the sudden boom of gunshots going off in the distance, return fire underway within a second. The shouting and yells to take cover were delicious in how the volume carried through the walls. Immediately, he was met with the sound of Stan spewing curses furiously, decibel level breaking records, and Ford questioning—panickedly _demanding_ —what was going on. Easy targets for the Ravagers.

Calmly, Bill suggested, “Question Mark, you should help them.” The shots were echoing throughout the bank audibly over the shouting and chaos, over the staticky noise of Ford's terrified cry. Combined with the alarms, the cracking of gunshots was muffled by the structures between them, but Bill could imagine it fine without the perfect sound quality: he liked to think the plan was rolling, the Ravagers had seized control of the first floor and had met Wendy and Ford head-on. “I think they’re in the lobby, I’ll be right behind you, but I have to adjust my combat vest.”

"You got it, dude!" After adjusting his gun, Soos was ambling off toward the lobby, likely walking directly into the firefight between the Owls and Ravagers. If everyone was where they were supposed to be, that put Wendy, Ford, and Soos into their firing range for the first contact to wear down supplies and force a surrender, while Robbie and Stan would soon have their standoff.

Through his headset, he winced when he heard Ford's brilliant deduction over what was happening. "They're firing at us! I think—" there were scattered curses and more gunshots, shuffling, static interfering with the message, " _Ravagers_ , it's them!" There was another pause before urgent shouting ensued, "This was supposed to be a _robbery_ , not a shootout, we don't have the supplies for this!"

Stan's response blared, more cursing. Colorful words directed at the Ravagers, and it was so uproarious that he wouldn't be surprised if Robbie could hear it across the room despite the alarms screeching in his ear and the stream of bullets crossing no man's land.

Bill was trying hard not to chuckle at Ford's continuation, pointing out how they couldn't keep their defenses up long. Of course they couldn't, that was the point of being attacked now. They were in a weakened state, split up into groups: the lobby would give up due to a lack of ammunition and be taken alive, Stan would be tracked down, and Dipper hopefully had the sense to bail on Stan. The Owls were almost defenseless. He could still hear the shooting, and then–

 _BOOM_!

The entire structure rattled, ancient wooden supports creaking under the tremors. _BOOM! BOOM!_ It sounded like a distant warzone and felt like one too, the ground shaking under his feet from the shockwaves.

Bill froze.

What the fuck? Did they shoot his bombs? This wasn’t supposed to happen. _They weren’t supposed to detonate them_.

Okay, he had to keep his cool. Couldn’t be suspicious, but he was in the process of rushing to the second floor to survey the damage from the overpass that looked upon the lobby. “What was that?” he inquired into the headset, trying to get his voice to carry over the screaming of the others and Ford's command to take cover; Bill fully knew the answer but was wanting the others to panic. He might as well make this useful.

"Don't know," Ford gruffly responded, breathless and horrified. It'd been a long time since he'd heard Ford so shaken up, in this state of utter vulnerability. Absolutely magnificent, he couldn't have asked for anything better. "They— maybe grenades? Some explosives." It confirmed his bombs had gone off due to the fire and there may have been more in that communication, but it was cut off by static and more gunshots, almost indistinguishable over the alarms with another earsplitting _BOOM_! shaking the building.

“Ford?” Stan’s voice came through, and he sounded worried. Scared. Bill loved that. He wanted Stan to suffer in his final moments. He was to the point where he had stopped using their stupid code names. “Hey, Ford? Ya there?”

"Can't— we're… it's bad," he reported rushedly over the snapping of gunshots and subsequent explosions, "Soos is stationed nearby, can't get close- Wendy is with me, we're alright. For now. However, I don't know how we'll get out." It was such a change to listen to Ford speak when his mind had to be racing with thoughts of survival, his big fancy words didn't come out to play. "We'll find a way. _Don't_ come here."

“Pomegranate,” Stan managed to croak after a moment, sounding like a broken shell of a man who'd watched his dream get crushed before his eyes and the helplessness of knowing he couldn't assist his twin in facing life-risking danger. Bill knew he wanted to protest, wanted to run to his Ford’s side and save him, but he had no choice but to stand back. “We need to leave.”

“Yeah,” Bill agreed, frowning as more explosions went off. Was his Pine Tree alright? He knew his bombs, knew the shrapnel could be fatal, and.. he hadn’t heard anything about him. It was worrying. “The cops are coming, the sirens are getting closer.”

"We'll leave when we can," Ford tensely replied, but if he was going to say more, it was cut off by subsequent bangs of a shotgun. Somebody must have gotten creative, or Robbie had invited friends along for the fun. Whether he did or not, Bill didn't care assuming they stayed in line. "Where are you, Cipher? We need help." The bark of his order was significantly less intimidating, he was like a child crying for a parent.

"Was behind Soos, but the path is blocked by debris." Not quite true at all, but it wasn't as if Ford was going to be running over in the middle of a firefight to check on the validity of the statement.

“I’m coming to help.” Stan spoke without hesitation. Bill paused, disliking the sound of that. Stan shouldn’t be with _them_ , he needed to be alone. How was Robbie going to kill him if he had Ford to look after his stupid back? Fuck.

Reaching the second floor and nearing the overlook, he supposed if there was anytime to mask up, it’d be now. Bill shed his blazer, exposing his Owl Mask attire and collecting the signature golden owl mask from within the pocket. It was tempting, dropping the headset now and crushing it under his foot.

Around him, the world was hectic. He could hardly see through the thick plumes of smoke that filled the rooms, and what he could glimpse– ruined furniture, broken chairs and tables that were upturned and singed. It seemed his companions were attempting to use it for cover, but he couldn’t imagine it was terribly effective with the bullet holes that littered them. If he squinted, he could make out pools of blood that seeped across the floor, and he couldn’t help but wonder who was injured. Or dead.

And oh, what was this? It seemed there were some unexpected guests in their midst. He knew they were Robbie’s, but what surprised him the most was the masks. A cat, two dogs. One of the dog masks had a bullet hole in the head, and recognition flickered: it was Lee’s, stained with his blood. Robbie had them reuse the old masks? What the fuck? _Who the fuck were these people_? There were more, he could briefly see the outline of another canine mask, perhaps a wolf, he couldn’t tell. They better not fuck his plans up. The building was already screwing him, with the rumbling and _booms_ as sections collapsed around them. No wonder the bombs had been detonated if there were additional people shooting in the area.

"Cipher was right," Ford said, "the cops are coming. Can hear them outside but we're too busy to hold them off. Are you— what are you doing? Are you safe? Where's Dipper?"

“Uh, I dunno. He ran off after the alarms and gunshots started, I haven’t seen ‘im.” What? Dipper was missing completely? Fuck him sideways. If shit kept going like this, nothing would ever get done. Fucking perfect. In the midst of chaos he should enjoy, he was treading the line of a breakdown and didn't think hearing Ford's screaming with Stan's weak reassurances were helping with that, so he reached up, turning the headset off. He would've thanked the Stars for silence, but the headset's additions to surrounding noise was minimal with the sirens in the distance, the bank alarm, the nonstop gunfire from downstairs. It was impossible to focus, much less hunt down his boyfriend.

But he needed to find Dipper, something he wasn’t sure how he’d do but he’d try his damndest. Heading down one of the hallways, he was careful to dodge the debris that cluttered the floor, the clouds of dust and smoke that filled the corridors and weighed down his lungs. It was hard to breathe, and his eyes were watering from the contaminants that seeped through his mask. This was worse than smoking, it didn’t even _taste_ good. It was fucking disgusting.

Loud wailing stopped him in his tracks outside one of the offices. It was high-pitched sobbing, desperate and despondent, and… and maybe it was Dipper. Bill brightened at the thought of having located him after the walk around part of the premises, and he paused to confirm that it was his Pine Tree. A few more seconds of the sniveling told another story though, especially as the voices—not simply one—delved into frightened chatter with a pitch that was nowhere near correct.

Bill's eyes narrowed, tinted with displeasure. It wasn't any of the Ravagers, most were engaged in the firefight on the floor below with Ford, Soos, and Wendy. Not Dipper, either. Stan was hell knew where, probably floating around trying to find another exit, while Robbie was on his heels. That didn't leave anybody, unless it was Robbie's extra friends.

Throwing the door open and raising his pistol instinctively, two unfamiliar figures drew back at the intrusive action, they screamed. One started pleading for her life, the other cowered, continuing to sob. Stars, that was annoying; he hadn't realized there was the chance of running into bank employees since it was closed today, but with how the woman was blathering about how this was a mistake and promising she would leave without saying a word… Well, it was a fluke, but now there were witnesses.

Undeterred by her pleas but swarming with endorphins at the god-like power to choose if they lived or died, Bill didn't have the patience for this shit today. “Shut up, you fucking bitch.” And he pulled the trigger twice, shooting both of them down in rapid succession. That took care of that.

"The fuck are you doing?" Beside him, there was a muffled growl from a particularly whiny source, and a shove to the side to see the carnage. He sneered at the downed employees and the growing pools of blood. "That's some shit luck. Are there others?"

“I don’t know, _Valentine_ ,” Bill’s tone was almost teasing. Killing witnesses was always fun. Stan rarely let him during their usual missions, something Bill wouldn’t stand for once he was the boss. “Have you seen any?”

"Haven't seen _anything_ , can hardly see at all through this haze." As if to accentuate his point, he waved his hand in front of his raven mask, not that it did anything to clear the air of dust particles. Although he'd probably wanted to continue bitching, he was interrupted by several rough coughs.

“‘Haze,’” Bill echoed, entertained by Robbie’s bitching. “What a big word for a not-so-big kid.”

"Fuck off. Where's Stan? That's who I've been looking for. Shouldn't be too hard to find him, right? He's a pretty big target, but you and all these damn bombs have made it basically impossible, asshole."

“He’s trying to get to the lobby where Ford is," he supplied, assuming that was what he'd be distracted with, "or he's trying to locate an escape route to give to the rest of the crew, but half the hallways are collapsed.” Bill shrugged nonchalantly but hoped this interaction would wrap up since he had a Pine Tree to track. “You’re on the opposite side of the building, it’s not my fault you aren’t aware of your surroundings.”

"How am I supposed to get over there, huh?" Stars, he needed to can it with the whining, his ears couldn't take much more of this. "Everything's blocked off! That's why I'm over here, tryin' to get to him." Attention shifting to the bodies, Robbie gave one a kick while he cursed, then muttered about getting out of here.

It was hard to not roll his eyes. “You could’ve gotten to him before they started the gunfight in the lobby.” Right now, he had more important things to worry about, and he continued down the string of hallways with Robbie at his heels, no doubt. A cacophony of sirens, yelling, explosions and gunshots mixed with the blaring alarm was deafening, and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to squint through the vapor. He could faintly make out light filtering through the smoky clouds that engulfed them.

"What is that?" Bill could picture Robbie's lip curling in distaste as he stared at the light drifting through broken windows in tilted frames, and it was a pleasure to watch him get closer only to jump back when a spray of bullets came whizzing in. The police choppers were here, and today, Robbie had learned a valuable lesson about stepping into the spotlight.

“Did that answer your question?” Bill challenged him, amused by what he had witnessed and admiring the holes of bullets decorating the floor. Shit, he wished he caught it on video. It would’ve been worth rewatching a thousand times.

Hunched over the railing and presumably distracted by the exchange of bullets below, Robbie merely snarled in reply. "I don't see Stan. You said he'd go to Ford, so where is he?"

Bill took a careful step toward the balcony, observing the chaotic scene below. Stan was nowhere in sight, but he could see Ford and Wendy crouched behind a burnt table for cover, with Soos laying a few feet away. That must’ve been who was injured, thank the Stars. “Do you see Fordsy?” he inquired, and he got a ' _yeah_ ' in reply as if it was obvious. “Shoot to injure him. That’s how you get the wild Stanley out of hiding. He’ll come to his mate’s – I mean _littermate’s_ rescue.” At his own joke, he hoarsely chuckled and leaned on his elbows to tilt forward in interest. Watching the smaller versions of his crewmates struggle for their lives against increasingly bad odds was a pastime he could get on board with, the sadistic side of him wondering how they were holding onto their positions as ammunition lessened into nothingness.

"You're fuckin' weird." It was a mutter under his breath, but despite the mask's muffling properties, he still managed to hear it. Robbie raised his gun over the railing and lowered his gaze to the sights, taking far too long in Bill's opinion to line up a shot. If they were having a duel right now, Robbie would be dead, a noteworthy detail because the end of the heist might end with a bang of a very similar sort.

“No, Stan’s _fucking_ weird.” The joke was lost on Robbie, but Bill dismissed his confused, irritated glare with a wave of his gloved hand. “Remember, we’re not _killing_ Ford. You don’t need to line up a headshot.”

 _"_ Stop messing up my shot, I know we're not killing him." There were a few more seconds of readjustment in his sights, then his breathing became shallow, a sign Bill took as Robbie preparing to hit his mark. If he missed, he'd have a field day with that since Ford was essentially a sitting duck on the platform below, unaware that he was being sniped at.

Bill was becoming steadily impatient. Robbie was fucking slow, and he was tempted to shoot him down now and take a shot at Ford later. It’d have gone much quicker than this. “So just shoot him in his fucking arm or something—”

The shot went off loudly and had his ears reduced to ringing, meanwhile the railing shuddered as Robbie's skinny ass fought the recoil. Snapping his eyes to Ford, it took an additional second or two, but there was a visible splotch of blood beginning to appear on his arm. He frantically cupped the wound in a six-fingered hand and from how he appeared to be doing mental math, Bill assumed he was trying to figure out how one of the Ravagers' bullets could have gotten him there.

It was accompanied by Ford saying something but over the rest of the noise, he couldn't hear what it was. It didn't matter because in any case, he was probably crying out to Stan and describing his injury — Bill wished he'd remembered to switch his headset back on. Better late than never, though, and he heard a brief snippet of Stan panickedly promising he'd keep trying to get to them, and Ford's vehement protests. If he knew Stan, he wouldn't have it, his stubbornness had decided he was going to rescue Ford from the big bad Ravagers and their hired pals. That was all he needed to hear to know the gist of the exchange.

“Stay here,” he told Robbie. “Stan’ll be here any minute, and you can take him out when he comes over to Ford.” Bill moved away from him, back into the hallway to resume his search of Dipper.

Bill trekked through the razed, annihilated hallways lined with charred marks of bombs and spattering of bullets to continue his scouring of the perimeter, Dipper had to be somewhere in here and one second more of being missing was another second that an enemy could stumble upon him. The pressure to identify his location was growing more intense — the firefight wouldn't last forever, and police had to be mapping out a method of infiltrating the building. Once it was overrun with law enforcement, sneaking from the premises unscathed would be ridiculously tough regardless of where Preston stood on the matter.

To Bill's relief, a thin, lone figure stood in the distance with the outline of a gun raised through the smoke. His heart beat faster as he sped his pace, it had to be Dipper. There was an array of shattered windows, broken glass scattered along the floor, and beyond that– he could see Dipper’s shadowy outline forming in greater detail, taking shots at the cops below through the panes.

This was perfect. Dipper was alone, and that meant Bill in all his Owl Mask glory could spook him out of the building and to safety. He knew his Pine Tree, he wouldn’t fight back– he’d take off for the hills. It was in his nature to flee. He was a Pines, after all. The son of San Andreas’ spineless senator, though Bill loved Dipper anyway.

Dipper took a step back from the window and started turning around, messing with the rifle in an attempt to start reloading it, but it seemed the change in his surroundings, the out-of-place nature of his presence, had been enough to convince him to look up from the weapon. And when he did, he audibly gasped, then coughed from the intrusion of particles in his lungs and staggered backwards, clutching the rifle close to himself as he gave an owl-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights stare for a long second or two. That was when Bill noticed the blood, both fresh and dried, around his nose and mouth and wiped onto his sleeve. It seemed to be trickling steadily from his nose. What the fuck happened? Did the recoil fuck his nose up while he was shooting downward? Bill slimmed his eyes in examination.

Although it didn't look broken, they’d need to take a closer look at his nose later with the amount of blood coming from it and how it seemed swollen. Oh, his poor Pine Tree. He’d make the others pay for hurting him.

Time felt frozen between then and when Dipper regained himself, scurrying to finish reloading with visibly shaking hands and a panicked expression that illustrated deep terror, like he was expecting to die at any given moment. He was still backing up, a shaky chant of 'oh my god' and 'stay back's falling from him as he slunk further from him. The intense fear in his eyes was striking, fright lining the edges of a hollowed shell that was newly filled to the brim with the sheer will to survive.

Bill didn’t listen, opting to approach him slowly with his hands raised. He had no intention of harming his Pine Tree, but he did want to scare him out of the building to safety.

"N-no!" Dipper squeaked and his breath caught, forcing him to cough in the dirty air again, but he kept stepping backwards. "No, no, please- please stay away from me, if you don't I'll—" It seemed the idea had come to him in a flash because he was pointing the muzzle of the rifle at him threateningly while swearing he would do it. "I don't— look, man, I don't want to! But I will, just please…"

Whatever the rest of the statement had been, he didn't have the chance to complete it because his back was against the wall now, trapping him into a corner, but he could see Dipper frantically searching for another mode of escape. When he couldn't locate one, he miserably said, "I don't _want_ to shoot you, I s-swear, but I— it's just… We're getting ambushed. You guys ambushed us— on our own heist! A-and," he sucked in a gulp of air through gritted teeth, "you're hurting them, my gang. It's my job. I.. I have to." The barrel of the gun swayed slightly but it didn't move from its position on him, a shoulder shot if he had to guess. Dipper's finger rested on the trigger, his jaw set.

Well. Bill didn’t believe Dipper would go through with it, he was _Dipper_ for star’s sake. The kid wouldn’t hurt a fly. He took another step toward Dipper, but Dipper was trembling harder and whispering a series of 'no, go away, leave me alone' under his breath. Another step. Dipper shrunk back. One more. His grip tightened on the rifle, his finger twitched dangerously near the trigger, but Bill knew he wouldn't do it. He was too soft. He'd run, but he had to give him that encouragement to scram—

A final step seemed to push some invisible boundary because Dipper suddenly made a high-pitched noise of sheer distress, like he was verbalizing the terror within him and letting it spill out everywhere, piercing his ears. Maybe it was a sound of fright, maybe a war cry; he didn't have time to think about it because he squeezed the trigger and the shot went off, a bullet whizzing by him only to cause a distant explosion. Unable to believe that Dipper had _tried to shoot him_ and was rushing to reload presumably to lead into attempt two, Bill broke character, turning his head to glance back at where the explosion took place. Wooden slats were damaged and breaking apart, collapsing inward.

“What the fuck, Pine Tree?" Bill demanded, voice more tense than he would've liked, suggesting he was more unnerved by this than he'd initially acknowledged. Dipper stiffened. "You were actually going to shoot me?” It was unbelievable. He didn’t think he would, this was _Dipper_. The kid that had an issue with him littering. He tried to shoot _him_. He could hardly process it. Bill moved his hands, taking off his mask as he looked at Dipper.

Time slowed, and he saw every reaction as they appeared: first, the astonishment, the shock of the truth confronting him had his pupils shrinking to the tiniest of dots, the spinning of his mind as he probably tried to decide whether he was hallucinating or if this was the real deal. In less than a second, it shifted to confusion with his eyebrows knitting together and mouth agape, his hands going slack. The rifle hit the floor with a muted thud.

As quickly as that had come, it had gone, and Dipper's face twisted into where he assumed it would remain - the combination of the two before it mixed with the utmost of hurt and betrayal. His throat moved and mouth worked, but no sounds came as he continued to try to process the sight before him.

“Hey, sugar? Cat got your tongue?” Bill didn't wait for a response and began closing the remaining distance between them. Scaring him off didn’t work, but Bill wasn’t bothered by that. Getting Dipper to safety was his priority. “We really should go, honey. This place is a wreck.”

" _You_?" he cried out, disbelief lining the shriek. "I— You're Owl Mask?" Airy and light like he couldn't get the words out, it was breathless, stunned, downright horrified, and his body crumbled against the wall he was pressed against. "Bill, I... I..." The words seemed to bubble on his tongue but nothing half-intelligible fell from him, just little muted noises of distress as everything snapped into place.

Reaching out to him, a sharp sound erupted from Dipper, and he smacked his hand away with force. "You—!" It was a lot more cold than the last with bitter resentment and hurt in every syllable, though his voice still shook with anxiety. "You _fucking—_ ambushed us?! _You t-tried to kill us_?!" Distrust swiped across his face in furious strokes, and Bill couldn't tell if his wounded tone was a result of his actual injury or this revelation.

As far as Bill was concerned, he didn’t do _anything_. He might’ve set up the ambush and plotted to kill Stan, but he didn’t want the rest of the crew to get hurt. He'd come to save Dipper, not… this. He wasn’t the bad guy here. He wasn’t.

Right?

If he wasn’t, why did he feel… weird, _wrong_ , seeing Dipper react aggressively, like his entire understanding of his existence was shattered before his eyes. “Sweetheart, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he tried, however he was struggling to believe it himself. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

Caught between fear and disbelief, he was snatching up the firearm again and held it close, Dipper's eyes blazing as they locked with his own.

"Y-you lied to us! _Everyone_! You're just— you're a traitor!" he accused venomously, voice cracking over the words. The mournful anguish was hard to listen to. "You didn't... plan to make Stan surrender, you set us all up to kill everybody because- because..." His breath hitched, like he couldn't think of a reason or was too choked up to manage it, but that didn't stop him from raising the barrel of the rifle at him again. Bill didn't know what to think of that, but he didn't like the odds of the situation; previously, he'd operated under the assumption that Dipper wouldn't hurt him, but now he wasn't as sure. "I don't care if you're not trying to kill me, you knew this whole time that we'd be walking into a trap, and _Owl Mask_?!" Dipper threw his arms out at him in bewilderment, as if he couldn't believe this supposedly treacherous move he'd pulled, not that it was as grand as he'd hoped it'd be anymore. "You.. _arranged_ this, all of it, you sick—"

“Pine Tree.” He spoke as he grabbed the barrel of the gun, pulling it away from Dipper and setting it on the ground. Although he attempted to grasp for it again, Bill kicked it further from his reach. “You need to relax, I’m not your enemy.” He had never been his enemy. Why was this changing? He wanted things to go back to how they were in the car, back when Dipper loved him.

"You _are_ my enemy, actually." Dipper had likely intended to say that with bravery and conviction, but it fell a few paces short of confident when he was quivering like a leaf, blood streaming from his nose downward. When Bill didn't react, it was ironic that Dipper recoiled and snapped, "Get _away_ from me, traitor!" There was that word again, said with such acrimony and the most contempt he'd ever heard in his life, as if he'd killed Dipper's parents.

Oh.

Well, that had been Robbie. Not him. The kid was way out of line. And Bill was growing more concerned by the blood that ran from his nose, the slight glaze to Dipper’s eyes. The dried spots suggested it had been bleeding for some time and was still going strong by the sight and metallic scent of fresh blood. “Come on, doll. I’m not a traitor, I’m on your side. Don’t do this.”

Chest heaving, Dipper squirmed further away from him and started patting at his combat vest, then he retrieved his small flashlight. " _Get away from me_ ," he repeated tensely, almost challenging him since there was an unspoken 'or I'll-' at the end of the sentence. When Bill didn't budge, Dipper raised the flashlight like he was about to hit him with it or throw the damn thing, and Bill wasn't about to let that bullshit happen.

But he wasn't prepared for the right hook knocking the breath from his stomach as it collided into him, and he realized with stunning clarity that the threat of a flashlight had been a mere distraction, enough to preoccupy him while the real attack landed. Fucking hell, how much did he evolve in the past four months?

Leaving Bill gasping for the oxygen stolen from him, Dipper was already wriggling to skirt him while the determination remained, straightening up to yell over the sound of the alarms, "Stan! _Stan_!! It's Bill!" His voice broke from the strain of screeching over alarms and sirens, but he was already sprinting off toward the stairwell so he could approach the firefight downstairs, presumably to rat out his part in this mission. " _Bill is Owl Mask_ , Stan! And he—" Oh **hell** no. That little _fucker_. " _He's a traitor_! He set us up—!"

He wasn’t going to ruin everything, not so fucking easily. Bill straightened himself up, whipping his pistol from his pocket, and he aimed toward the exit Dipper was approaching. One shot, and the bullet whizzed into the explosive device planted just above the staircase. Dipper's escape was thwarted and he stumbled back wildly, movements clumsy, the passage immediately reduced to a pile of broken rubble, remnants of structure. There was no way he could squeeze his way through that; the bombs had been a hindrance leading up to this, but the save made it all worth it.

Once the dust began to clear and the dazed Dipper recovered from the impact, he heard him coughing weakly. Aware the kid wasn't going anywhere since there was nowhere _to_ go if he couldn't get past him, Bill was already counting his losses: Dipper's bloody nose, potentially fractured, his own cuts and scrapes, and probably some wounds from the shrapnel on Dipper. Nothing they couldn't take care of as long as Dipper was alive.

Snapped from his thoughts, he saw Dipper picking himself up off the ground again and beginning to look for a new path, yet Bill saw the desperation taking over. Dipper was out of options, but that didn't stop him from rushing off into a sprint. Before he could react, Dipper stumbled a little and flopped forward like his legs were failing, arms splayed to catch himself. That didn't deter him, he rose to his feet again only to basically receive the same results, albeit significantly faster as he fell to the floor. The bafflement was written across his expression as he struggled to stand, tried to crane his neck to see the issue. If it weren’t so fucking sad to watch, it would’ve been darkly humorous, watching him flail like a fish on land. Bill approached him, scanning his legs for signs of a forming bloodstain.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Pine Tree.”

When Dipper stared up at him from the floor, leg out at an awkward angle, he saw the survival instinct in his eyes, the primal side that wanted to live and be as far away from him as possible, and it manifested in a low cry of pain like a wounded animal when he tried to collect himself and run on pure adrenaline. Something had to be wrong, he couldn't even get off of the floor anymore without collapsing into a heap.

“Hold still,” he muttered as he leaned over him, intending to examine his leg. Dipper tried to squirm and kick uselessly, but tightening his grip - or maybe pain, since he was wailing again - stopped him. He could see where his pants had been damaged, darkened with blood from a graze wound. This was near his stitches, and Bill was concerned by the prospect of damaging the old wound. Shit. This was counterproductive, and all because the kid decided he HAD to nark. They had basic first aid in personal kits, but a simple bandaid wouldn’t cut it.

"I—" Dipper started but tapered off, shifting his hips, stretching out the other leg while the one that'd been shot remained limp, lifeless, aside from smaller motions that didn't seem to be what he was intending to do. "I don't think I c-can really move it. Did I break it? Is my leg okay?" Even without the heat of the moment, he still sounded afraid and out of breath. Fear for his life was overcoming the hatred they both knew was there, searing the bond of their relationship, incinerating it into a pile of ashes as Dipper unconsciously put on this act of decency to preserve himself. Instinct and the sheer will to live had to be one hell of a drug to trump his emotion when a minute ago, he'd been clamming up and sputtering, furious and devastated.

“It’s not broken. You’re just weakened from blood loss, but you’ll pull through.” He knew his Pine Tree was a survivor, he wasn’t concerned by that. “I wish you hadn’t run.” His voice had grown resigned, heavy with a combination of disappointment and sadness.

"There's— it's, uh ...what _is_ that?" Once again, he was struggling to bend and see the back of his leg. "It's like, warm water." From the not-quite-right movements, he could determine Dipper was attempting to maneuver his leg again to no avail, then simply slumped onto his side to raggedly breathe. Bill didn't like how his eyes drifted, wandering near-aimlessly across the ceiling until he spoke and drew his attention back:

“Blood.” He was resigned, tired, wishing his Pine Tree had listened to him to begin with, or ditched in a fit of panic. He'd trusted him enough to go quietly out of this hellhole. “I didn’t want to hit you. I was trying to avoid it.”

Startled, Bill heard his staggered intake of breath over the mindless cacophony of the other blaring sounds. "Wait, _what_?"

Bill glanced away from him, wondering if he needed to repeat himself. He felt bad. Goddamn awful. Hurting Dipper hadn’t been his intention, and the regret was threatening to paralyze him, but they couldn't afford that. “Now isn’t the time, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

"You _HIT_ me? What does that even mean?!" His questions weren't questions, they were more like panicked screeches in the midst of his delicate cries. "I feel sick…"

"Hey!" A snarl drifted over the headache-inducing noise, and Bill didn't have to look up to know who it was, but he did anyway just to see Robbie's lanky form, his mask clutched in one hand, a sinister pout curling his lip. His gun was in the other hand. "Hear that?" he asked with a wave toward the floor below. "Me neither, that fuck's gone, Cipher, and cops will be pouring in any second."

It was strange how Dipper and Robbie seemed to notice one another at the same time. Their reactions varied so vastly with Dipper's a pale one of aghast horror, jaw going lax in surprise then shifting his gaze to him in another surge of backstabbed hurt — he may have forgotten he'd lied to Dipper about who Robbie was forever ago, but now they had bigger issues as Robbie grinned sadistically like this encounter alone had made his entire night.

Bill wasn’t looking forward to this. This was another thing he'd wanted to avoid, and of course his fucking plan failed _again_. Fuck him. “So leave.” Robbie’s bullshit after the hell they’d just gone through was going to piss Bill off, and he was struggling to contain the urge to blow his brains out before he tried anything.

"Sure." Motioning casually with his gun toward Dipper, he asked with that same sickening smile, "What are you doing with that?" When Dipper wheezed painfully and tried to rise to his feet but failed, he pathetically crashed to the floor in a pool of his own blood. That prompted Robbie to sneer, making a face. "Letting him bleed?"

There was no way IN HELL he was going to let Dipper die. Not now, not later. Dipper was HIS, and Bill would put him back together. “None of your concern. Fuck off.”

"No, I've wanted this for too long," Robbie said harshly, approaching to aim his gun at Dipper. "I know you like watching them suffer, so where will it be?" Dipper's lack of reaction had dread grasping at him because the Dipper he knew would be freaking the fuck out, screaming, crying, pleading with him, fighting back. Not this indifference. This… lifelessness, and Bill could only assume it was because of the blood that drained from his leg, soaking through his pants and onto the floor. The blood-thinning medication was part of the culprit, a factor of his rapid decline. He was scared, genuinely terrified of the possibility of losing his Pine Tree, and he hardly understood that emotion. But he understood his love for Dipper, and that losing him wasn’t something he could handle. Getting him to safety and fixing his leg was the only thing that mattered.

When Robbie began aligning the shot, Bill didn’t hesitate, pulling his pistol and firing several rounds at that son of a bitch, who fled once he realized what was happening, which gave Bill time to swap with the higher powered rifle. “I told you to fuck off!” He was not in the mood for this, his Pine Tree was already injured enough and Bill wasn’t going to dick around with Edgelord while his Pine Tree needed him. He couldn’t lose his doll, he meant way too much to him.

"You know what?" he heard a shout from the hallway. " _Fuck you_! And don't come back or you're dead!" Bill made a point of firing a few shots down the corridor after him. Funny, how that was coming from the guy partway to an exit.

Holstering the pistol, he moved to collect his Pine Tree, pulling his bandana from his pocket. He wrapped it above the injured portion of Dipper’s leg, tightening it to close off the circulation. It was the best he could do without access to medical supplies. Once the makeshift tourniquet was secured, he lifted him into his arms and made his way down the opposite hallway. It was difficult to navigate the hall with the combination of rubble making him stumble every few steps, and the haze that continued to cloud his vision.

But Bill was determined to get him to safety, one way or another.


End file.
